The Tumblr Chronicles
by Yessica-N
Summary: Collections of prompt answers/drabbles from tumblr. Various settings and characters. Mostly centered around Sans & Papyrus. Mostly Angsty in nature, with the rare fluff in between. (warnings before each chapter)
1. Are you crying?

**Prompt:** "Are you crying" Said to Papyrus, by somebody of your own choice.

* * *

"Are you crying?"

He blinks. Once. Twice.

He feels the the wetness running down his cheeks.

A vine snakes up to brush against his eye sockets, gathers the tears in a neat little pool.

"How do skeletons even do that?" The flower wonders out loud, an odd type of childish curiosity sneaking into his voice.

Because that's what he is, after all. Just a child.

Or that's what Papyrus tries to convince himself in between the broken bones and bent phalanges, at least.

"I don't know." He murmurs. Trying to talk with a dislocated jaw is surprisingly painful.

Flowey hums, jagged teeth inches from his face. "Of course you don't."

He sounds almost disappointed.

There is a sickening crunch. There goes another knee joint.

"Does it hurt?" Now he sounds pleased again.

"It's fine." Papyrus answers slowly, trying to move his leg and failing.

It does hurt. Everything hurts.

Flowey pokes at the exposed marrow. "Is it, though?"

Papyrus stares at the cavern ceiling above them. The small dots of fake stars in the distance.

They seem to be moving, just like the real deal.

Though that might just be his body going into shock.

"Are you happy?" His voice sounds distant, even to his own ears. Definitely shock.

Flowey doesn't answer. Doesn't need to.

Papyrus can read him like an open book by now, even if the soulless being denies it.

"Then it's fine."

Papyrus hears rather than feels Flowey's anger. Hears the grating of bone shards against plant matter. The annoyed hiss right besides his ear hole.

"I don't understand." It's not the first time the flower has said this. It won't be the last either.

Maybe he'll never understand.

"Of course you don't." Papyrus smiles, even as more tears escape from his eye corners.

The pain is pretty much all encompassing by now, a constant state of being that leaves little room for anything else.

The fake stars blur together, a million tiny pinpricks of light in the darkness that fill his vision.

It's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

* * *

 **Find me on tumblr - sent me promts: Sharada-n**


	2. Please, you're scaring me

**Prompt:** "Please, you're scaring me." Said to Papyrus, by Sans.

 **This one actually won't make much sense if you don't follow me on tumblr, seeing as it's from an AU I've been working on.  
**

 **TL,DR: Papyrus has some very murderous voices in his head.**

* * *

"P-Please..." That voice sounds so tiny, so uncharacteristically washed out. "You're scaring me, bro."

Papyrus lets go, tries to still the unsteady shaking of his hands. He can feel his right eye burning and reels the magic in fast enough that it actually rebounds inside his skull.

The painful thrumming this causes goes well with the insistent voices still continuing their never-ending litany of whispers.

Sans doesn't move, just stares at him with unbelieving eyes. His facial expression an odd mixture between confusion and worry.

And fear.

The realization seems like the kind of thing that should warrant a more serious reaction, but Papyrus just feels empty.

Ignores the happy glee of the voices.

"Are you ok?" Sans asks, moving extremely slow as he smooth out the front of his shirt. The wrinkles where Papyrus just had him in a death grip moments before.

"I'm fine, Sans." Papyrus quickly says. His voice trembles a bit and he hates himself for it. "You just startled me."

All this time on the surface has seriously worn down his ability to lie. If it doesn't even sound convincing to his own ears, his brother will never believe him.

"What were you even doing?" Sans relaxes slightly, but his movements stay slow, cautious. Almost as if he's afraid Papyrus could snap again any second.

He might not be entirely wrong.

"I had a headache." It's the truth. But there has hardly gone a day by where his skull doesn't feel like it's constantly splitting in half lately. That's not the problem.

The problem is the fact that he's not alone in his own head anymore.

Sitting in the dark, letting the whispers run their course, allowing them their say. No matter how vile their opinions. How wretched their motivations.

"Oh... ok. Maybe you should lie down, then?"

"Yes, maybe I should." Papyrus moves awkwardly, tries to not flinch as his nerves are jarred by every motion.

Sans is watching him, fists clenching rhythmically. He looks like he wants to reach out, but is afraid to actually do so.

Not surprising, seeing what happened when he tried to touch his brother just now.

"Are you sure-" He tries at last, just before Papyrus can shut the door to his room. Lock him out completely.

"I'm fine." Papyrus repeats, and his voice sound surer this time. Less shaky.

Turns out lying is like riding a bicycle. One never quite forgets.

He feels the door against his back and clenches his sockets shut at the painful barrage of whispers.

The voices are angry. They screech and hiss their displeasure. Deafening.

They want to hurt someone. Inflict pain. Cause suffering.

He sighs, digs the knife from where it's hidden under his pillow. He'll indulge them.

* * *

 **My Tumblr is: Sharada-n**


	3. I don't know if I can do this

**Prompt:** Frisk & Papyrus - Genocide route

* * *

Their knees sink into the snow, coldness immediately invading their bare legs.

It hurts, stings even. But not as much as the thoughts swirling through their head.

-I don't know whether I want to do this- They yell, but only on the inside. Their voice probably wouldn't work even if they wanted it to. -I don't know whether I CAN do this-

 _'You have to.'_ It whispers. It sounds like honey and blood and death.

Frisk barely thought such a thing was possible.

 _'He's going to kill you.'_ It says. ' _They're all going to kill you.'_

The wind is blowing, snow everywhere. It's hard to see through the mist, but Frisk doesn't need to, to know what is waiting for them.

The knife trembles in their hand.

 _'Why are you making such a big deal out of this now?'_ It asks, malicious and disappointed and way too real for comfort. ' _You killed her didn't you? You killed all of them...'_

-I don't know- They get up, as if pulled by an invisible force. Like strings on a puppet. Like being driven by an unseen determination. -He's different. He doesn't want to hurt us.-

 _'Idiot!'_ It hisses, right besides their ear. As intangible as a shadow, but similarly attached to one's person. Impossible to shake loose.

 _'It's a trap. They await you with open arms and stab you in the back when you're not looking. They're all the same... Trust me.'_

Everything feels dull. Like they're perceiving the world through a haze. Like standing besides their own body.

They're not entirely in control anymore. Another part of them fades away.

-I don't know if I can do this- They repeat meekly.

A figure looms in front of them, arms stretched wide. Frisk would like nothing better than to run towards it and fall into that embrace.

Sob their apologies and beg for forgiveness.

Ask if they can still be a good person.

But the force is there, filling their head with cotton, wrapping around their soul like a smothering blanket.

Solidifying their hold on the knife. Making sure the killing blow will be effective.

 _'Don't worry.'_ It whispers. ' _It will all be over soon. It will only hurt for an instant.'_

They nod with blurry vision, tears in their eyes.

 _'Forgettable.'_


	4. What the fuck is going on?

**Prompt:** "Will you tell me what the fuck is going one? What's all this blood?" - Underfell AU - Sans  & Papyrus

* * *

"Will you tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Papyrus ignores him, watches the water swirl around his hands and slowly turn pink.

Such an ugly color.

"What's all this blood?" Sans tries again, attempting to keep the fear out of his voice and failing.

He is scared. Scared, hungry, cold... but mostly scared.

"It's not mine." Papyrus states simply, turning his head towards his brother.

There is a hideous crack running across his socket, marred with dust and specks of red marrow.

It looks painful.

Sans would like nothing more than to reach out and ease some of that hurt.

But he doesn't, clenching his fist against his chest instead.

Lately, his brother has become adverse to touching. It worries Sans.

The dark stains of half-dried blood on Papyrus' hands worry him too.

"That's not an answer." He grumbles instead, taking a step closer and ignoring the way the tall skeleton's frame goes rigid. Defensive.

"Here." Papyrus throws something on the ground between them.

Sans is almost ashamed at how his eye sockets involuntarily widen, soul fluttering at the sight of the much-needed food.

If he had a stomach, it would be growling eagerly.

"Where did y-" He begins, but Papyrus stops him.

"Don't."

His voice sounds firm, commanding, but with an underlying edge of desperation.

In the blue-tinged light of Waterfall, Sans finds it impossible to read his face.

There are many things that word could mean.

 _Don't ask where I got this._

 _Don't thank me.  
_

 _Don't make this more difficult than it has to be._

 _..._

 _Don't you think this makes me a bad person?_

Sans kneels down, digs through the bag and pulls out an almost full bottle of mustard.

He doesn't look at the blood spatters.

He doesn't look at the small specks of dust.

He doesn't check his brother's LV.

He doesn't dwell on the fact that after this, nothing will ever be the same again.

* * *

 **find me on Tumblr:** Sharada-n


	5. Only Dust

**Prompt:** "I'm leaving, and I don't intend to come back" and "I can't live without you!" - Sans & Papyrus

 **Warnings:** Talk about Suicide, Emotional Manipulation, Character Death.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Papyrus does not startle, does not even move, at the sound of his brother's voice behind him. Just stares resolutely at the bag in his hands.

"I'm leaving, Sans." He says, as if the other doesn't know this perfectly well. "And I'm not intending to come back."

Sans doesn't say anything, but Papyrus can feel those small eye lights burning into his back.

He takes a deliberate step, the door just a few paces away. But Sans shifts behind him.

"Why?" He asks, and Papyrus can't help but huff in annoyance.

"You know why." He says.

He doesn't want to do this. Play these games.

Be roped into another long conversation that will only end with Sans repeating apology after apology, promising he'll change, promising things will get better, until finally Papyrus' resolve breaks and he ends up staying after all.

Except Sans doesn't change. He never does.

And each time it takes longer for Papyrus to muster up the courage to try and get away. Away from this toxic environment that's slowly killing him on the inside.

He's sick of it. Sick of being treated like an ignorant little child. Sick of pretending to be happy when he's actually miserable. Sick of sacrificing everything for an ungrateful brother who only ever sees his own anguish.

He's sick of this life. And he needs to get out.

When he takes another step, the pleading starts.

"Wait-" Desperation tinges the smaller skeleton's voice, and it tugs at Papyrus' heartstrings in all the wrong ways.

"Please... Pap. Don't go." Sans comes closer, but Papyrus doesn't turn.

Can't look at his brother, because he knows that would break him.

He should just leave. He shouldn't give Sans the chance to make him stay.

"P-Please. I'm sorry, ok. I'm sorry for everything. Just don't leave, I- I can't live without you, bro."

"Don't be dramatic." Papyrus says. He's so tired of these theatrics. He moves again, but Sans grabs his wrist, almost painfully tight.

"I'm serious." And the way Sans says it does give him pause. "I _can't_ live without you, Papyrus. I can't and I won't."

Papyrus turns, horror stricken. The eye sockets staring back into his are empty, devoid of light.

"I can't live without you." Sans repeats meekly, his voice quiet and nearly emotionless. "If you leave now... there will only be dust for you to find, if you ever come back."

The silence stretches out between them. Tense. Uncomfortable. Papyrus can't say anything. Can't move either. The bag has slipped from his grasp, hitting the ground with a shallow thud.

Apparently, his facial expression says enough.

"Thank you." Sans mumbles. His arms encircle the taller skeleton. Holding him tight. Papyrus feels himself trembling.

"It's ok." Sans look up at him. "It's ok, Paps. Things will be better this time. I'll be better."

Papyrus so desperately wants to believe him.

* * *

Things don't get better. Of course not.

He sits on the couch, the room entirely dark.

Sans is not home. Probably off drinking at Grillby's.

Papyrus had dinner alone again.

He wants to leave. This would be the ideal time too. Sans can't stop him if he's not here.

But he can't. He can't leave, because that would be like killing Sans and Papyrus could never do that.

But he can't stay. Staying is dying on the inside and he already feels emptier each day.

He can't stay but he can't leave but he can't stay but he can't leave and he just can't can't CAN'T- His mind running in circles.

Everything hurts.

He can't keep living like this. He needs to get out.

He can't leave, but he needs to get out.

He needs to get out, but he can't leave.

There is really just one solution.

* * *

When Sans comes home, there is only dust for him to find.


	6. Playing Demons

**Prompt:** Babybones - Fluff

 **This was written mostly as a breather to serve in between all the angst.**

* * *

"You hid this from me? You were... You were working for the demon all along..." His eyes were wide, unbelieving. How could this have happened? How could he not have noticed sooner?

But his voice strengthened with growing resolve "Now, you're going to die, traitor!"

Sans brandished the stick at his brother, extravagant sweeping included. Papyrus giggled at his dramatics, but quickly schooled his face back into a neutral expression when his brother waved his stick again, remembering his lines.

"Alas, It was indeed so!" The small skeleton child yelled excitingly. "And I think it will be thy who faces their maker!"

Sans frowned, lowered his make-believe weapon a fraction. "The demons talks like _that_?"

Skeletons should not be able to pout, but somehow Papyrus made it work. "I shall speak how I like, mortal!"

He jumped forward, branch outstretched to poke Sans between the ribs. His brother quickly retreats, swinging his own stick to parry.

Their make-shift swords clashed against each other a few times, feet scuffling in the snow beneath them.

"Give it up!" Papyrus yelled when they broke apart again. "The forces of good will always triumph!"

"Uhm, Paps. You do know demons should probably not be considered forces of good, right?" Sans asked wearily, though there's a grin on his face.

His brother ignored him in favor of launching another attack. Sans brought his stick up in the nick of time, only for it to break in half on impact, leaving him quite defenseless.

"Nyehehe, See? Triumph!" Papyrus' grin was brighter than the most dazzling light Sans had ever witnessed.

"Alright, alright. I surrender." Sans raised his hands in defeat, heaving a dramatic sigh. "What happens now?"

"Now, thy shall be sentenced to..." Papyrus paused, casting his mind around for an appropriate punishment. "... doing the dishes for the rest of the week!"

Sans looked positively horrified at the idea. Sinking to his knees in the snow, he grabbed at where his heart would be, were he not a skeleton, and let out an undignified sound, eye sockets screwed shut in apparent agony. "Oh no! The horror. Have mercy, lord."

Papyrus approached him, patted his head almost condescendingly. "Alright then... three days."

Sans cracked one eye, smirked at his little brother. "And you'll help?"

"Of course I will."

Sans grabbed his brother in an almost bone crushing hug. "Thanks, bro. You're the coolest!"

Papyrus giggled, throwing his arms around him. "I know."


	7. Sanctions

**Remember the fluffy babybones we had last time? Well... Time for more angst!**

 **Warnings:** Gaster the royal child abuser, starvation, emotional manipulation.

* * *

When the doctor comes to get them, he usually only takes one.

The other is left behind, in their empty, cold excuse for a room (a cell, really), waiting anxiously for their brother to return.

Never knowing how long it will take for them to come back.

Never knowing what state they'll be in when they do.

Not even certain if they will come back at all, sometimes.

And it's not clear which is worse.

Being the one that has to leave. Or being left behind.

Maybe both are equally terrible.

* * *

"I told you that's enough." Sans loses his concentration when he feels the doctor's hand slap against the back of his head roughly.

His magic dissipates hastily, eye radiant with pale blue afterglow. Gaster shakes his head in disapproval.

"So much magic potential, and yet such sloppy control." There is the sound of pen on paper, and Sans straightens slightly, ignores the dull ache in his skull.

He grits his teeth to avoid saying anything.

Gaster doesn't want them to talk unless spoken to.

So Sans sits quietly, clenches his fists rhythmically in a nervous habit he developed recently, staring at the table in front of him and the almost random assortment of items strewn upon it, while Gaster paces behind him and finishes making notes.

Eventually, the child isn't able to stand the silence any longer. "How did I do?"

The doctor sighs, signaling he isn't pleased with the interruption, but answers none the less. "Adequate."

"Adequate?!" It escapes him before he can stop it, a high-pitched noise of disbelief. "But I-"

Gaster's hand makes contact again, a bit harder this time, and Sans grunts in pain.

"I do not believe I have asked you for your opinion, did I, S-1?"

Sans feels one eye twitch at the name.

When he doesn't answer immediately, he senses Gaster come up right behind him, laying one hand against the back of his skull, grasping the uppermost vertebrae.

It's uncomfortable, almost painful.

"Did I?"

Sans persist to hold his tongue stubbornly, feeling the doctor tightening his grip minutely at his continued defiance.

"Do you refuse to answer me?"

Sans feels the corner of his mouth pull up in an involuntary grin at the doctor's annoyed tone. "And what are you going to do about it, doc? You can't hurt me."

Gaster lets go abruptly, comes around the table to face him. He is smiling in a most unpleasant manner.

"Taking advantage of your physical fragility in an attempt at emotional manipulation, I see. How clever you must think yourself..." The doctor looks down at him with a little smirk that makes Sans sick. "Too bad you must make life so difficult for your brother."

"Papyrus?" Sans braces his hands against the table, gripping the edge tightly.

"620 HP, was it? That should grant us quite a bit of leeway, don't you think?" Gaster stares him in the eyes, unmoving, and Sans knows he's absolutely serious.

The child drops his head, glaring at the surface of the metal table in front of him. "I apologize, sir."

"Very well." Gaster moves past him, shoes tapping against tile. "But do aim for more than mere mediocrity next time."

* * *

"How can I ever help you, if you fail to even grasp the meaning of these tests?"

"I'm sorry." He's not sure what he is apologizing for, but the doctor is mad at him and Papyrus doesn't like that.

"I don't need your excuses. I need results." Gaster is rolling his eyes, drags a hand down his face. "This is why I prefer your brother."

Papyrus swallows, doesn't look up. His legs are swinging to and fro, too short to reach the ground, and he watches them move in and out of view repeatedly.

The sight is oddly soothing.

"Can I try again?" He mumbles. The doctor doesn't like it when he talks, but seems to approve of his eagerness to complete the various puzzles.

And Papyrus does enjoy these tests, the ones with pen and paper. They're less... painful than some of the others he's had to do before.

"There is really no point in trying again if you will only continue to disappoint me." Gaster huffs, thoughtful. "But maybe we might add some incentive for next time... How many questions did you fail to complete?"

"Three." He answers immediately, feeling his face heat up in shame at the admission. Papyrus really isn't as good at science as Sans and often finds himself wishing that he was.

Maybe the doctor would stop being so angry at him all the time.

"Three..." Gaster repeats slowly. "I'm afraid that means S-1 will have to skip the next three meals, then."

"What!?" Papyrus shoots up straight, despair tinging his voice. The doctor looks almost pleased at his panic.

"Maybe seeing your brother go hungry will motivate you to put in more effort next time."

"I do! I do put in effort. Please, sir, don't-" Papyrus feels a heavy weight in the back of his throat, blinking hard to stop from crying.

The doctor always hurts him if he cries.

Gaster interrupts him with a quick hand gesture. "You are failing these tests, either because of a lack of effort or a lack of intelligence. And frankly I do not conceive which is more depressing."

Papyrus stays silent, entire body shaking. He feels nauseous, and the back of his eye sockets sting with suppressed tears.

Gaster looks at him then, shakes his head. "Alright P-2. How about this..." He lays his hands on the table, gazes at Papyrus intently. "Either your brother skips three meals. Or _you_ skip _three days_ worth of food."

The answer doesn't even need to be considered.

"Interesting." Gaster pulls back, notes something else down. Papyrus frowns, unaware that this was still part of his test. But the doctor looked genuinely surprised at his answer.

For a second, the small skeleton child feels himself swell with pride. Maybe he had done something right after all?

"Another logical fallacy." Gaster says. "But at least you are only hurting yourself with your own stupidity."

Papyrus deflates. Scratches one hand across his ulna to ground himself.

"I shall escort you back to your room." The doctor gestures with his clipboard and Papyrus slides down from the chair, naked feet against cold tile. "Your 72 hours start now."

"Yes sir." His voice is quiet, tiny, as he walks behind his father. Ignores the hunger already building in his gut.

* * *

 **Join me on tumblr** : Sharada-N


	8. We all shall fall

**We have a two-shot this time. This chapter and the next come together to form one story. And since I've already written them both, you won't even have to deal with a cliff-hanger!**

 **Warnings:** Implied Self-Harm.

* * *

Maybe he overdid it a bit this time.

The world seems too bright. Too sharp. Too colorful.

It hurts to keep his eye sockets open, so he scrunches them tight instead.

Slow motion has become the default speed, and moving feels more like fighting gravity. Which is why he doesn't bother trying to get up from the couch.

There's a very adamant voice in the back of his mind telling him he needs to get to the kitchen. Get something to eat. Anything to level out his HP again.

But his entire left ulna feels like somebody pulled his arm through barbered wire, the pain radiating upwards in a most unpleasant manner. And he can't feel his legs anymore.

He definitely overdid it this time.

Even through the white noise ringing in his ear holes, he can hear the door opening. Sans just got home.

Papyrus discovers he doesn't have enough energy left for a proper panic attack.

Like he should be having right now.

It's too early. Sans shouldn't be home for hours yet.

But here he is, and he's saying something that Papyrus for the life of him can't understand because his head is filled with static and pain.

And he wants to scramble to cover up the evidence of his incompetence.

It doesn't take somebody as observant as Sans to see the dust all over his hands or the pain in his face or the blasted knife dropped carelessly at his feet.

"Hey, bro. Are you feeling alright?" His silence has tipped Sans off. He's looking over at him from where he's still at the door, switching out his sneakers for the more comfortable slippers he prefers in house. "You don't look it."

"I'm fine." Papyrus says. He manages to nudge the blade under the couch with his foot, the minuscule movement proves to be a nightmare to coordinate.

But his voice sounds all wrong, even to his own ears and he knows Sans won't be convinced. He crosses his arms tightly, holds them close to his body and ignores the burning ache it elicits down his arm.

"Are you sick?" Sans asks him. There is the slightest trace of worry in his tone, because Papyrus never gets sick, and he starts to approach with an assessing gaze.

Words seem like too much of an effort right now, so he shakes his head instead.

"What's wrong, Paps?" Now Sans is right there and Papyrus wants to yell at him to go away, or get up and leave, or do anything to escape what he knows is about to happen any second now.

There's a hand on his shoulder and he actually jolts, the well-meaning touch sending a bolt of pain through his arm that has him gritting his teeth in agony.

Papyrus makes a last ditch effort to stand up, remove himself from the situation.

He ends up kind of pitching forward instead, legs refusing to cooperate any longer. He would have landed as an undignified heap on the floor, if it weren't for Sans, who had knelt before him upon seeing his distress.

As it is, he falls against his brother, the smaller skeleton almost toppling over himself from the sudden weight, dimly grateful that he doesn't have to see the other's face in this position.

"Papyrus?" The way Sans says it makes him want to cry.

It's always 'bro' or 'Paps', never his full name, and it shouldn't be, because Sans says it with an edge of worry and panic that almost has him hoping he could just turn to dust right there and then.

"Papyrus, talk to me! What's wrong?" Sans has both hands on his shoulders now, pushing in an effort to see his face, and the movement only makes it worse, his arm nothing but pain.

He wants to just rip if off.

"I'm sorry…" he mumbles instead, burying his face against his brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry-"

A mantra of apologies, a constant stream of sound that he can concentrate on to not start crying instead.

"Shhhhh…" Sans holds him tight. "It's ok, Paps. It's ok."

It's clear from his tone of voice that he has no idea what Papyrus is talking about.

That's fine. He'll find out soon enough.

Papyrus feels tired. He closes his eyes, allows the last residue of energy to drain from his body. He's not sure if he's falling asleep or falling down, but doesn't care either way, because the pain is fading, replaced by a detached feeling of lightheadedness that almost makes him want to giggle.

"Paps, please- S-Stay with me, ok?" Sans sounds so broken. So sad. So scared.

Exactly what Papyrus had been trying to avoid all this time.

But now Sans knows. He knows and it's all falling apart.

Fuck.

He'll deal with it when he wakes up. _If_ he wakes up.

* * *

 **This was supposed to be a happier ficlet... I failed.**


	9. But we get back up

**Follow up to the previous chapter. At least it gets the semi-happy ending it deserves... (man, I need to write more fluff already)**

 **Warnings:** Talking about self-harm. Talking about death.

* * *

He _does_ wake up.

His eyes open to a blurry ceiling, small cracks running across age-worn wood. Papyrus blinks in an effort to clear his vision, surprised at how the world appears to be slowly spinning.

That was certainly... something.

He tries to check his own HP, get an idea of the damage he caused himself this time. But his head seems to ring with a dull ache that makes it too hard for him to properly concentrate.

A small, nervous laugh makes him turn his head. Sans is on the floor, sitting with his legs crossed and his head in his hands. There is something in his lap that Papyrus can't quite make out from his position on the couch.

"How bad?" He asks, voice hoarse and tired sounding. He feels like he could just close his eyes and sleep for a hundred years.

Sans looks up at him and slides one hand down to rest above his own chest. Papyrus doesn't need to see the soul that rests beneath, to know it's there. So fragile. Sans has always been so fragile, one hit and-

"Let's just say we match now, bro..." Papyrus has never heard his brother sound so cynical.

"That bad, huh..." he murmurs, more to himself than anything. He _really_ overdid it this time.

He's such an idiot. In retrospect, there were about a million different ways he should have handled the situation. A thousand better solutions. Yet he decided to nearly kill himself?

Well, at least he wasn't actually dead. Though, depending on what would come next, he might wish he were.

Sans is shaking ever so slightly, bracing against the floor. And Papyrus just knows this conversation isn't going to be pleasant.

"I'm sorry. I went through your room and-" there is something in his hands now. Something that catches the light, and reflects it in a way that is all too familiar to Papyrus. "-and found this."

Papyrus has to put in more effort than should be considered normal to see what Sans is handling.

It's a knife. His knife. The one he had stored away in his room, somewhere in the back of his closet.

It was his go to instrument when he needed... relief. But today, he had opted for another, similar blade, straight from the kitchen.

Because the knife he usually preferred had gotten dull from use, and he hadn't had the chance to sharpen it yet.

"Care to tell me what the hell this was doing in your room?" Sans' voice pulls Papyrus out of his thoughts. His brother is handling the cold instrument idly, twisting it between his fingers slowly. "Because I don't think it's because you suddenly took an interest in woodcutting..."

His mouth feels like somebody stuffed it full of cotton, world still slightly too bright and sharp for him to think properly. It's the low HP, he reminds himself. Once you eat something, everything will be alright.

Except that Sans knows now and nothing is alright.

"Why were you in my room?" He hears himself asking. It's a stupid question. A ridiculous question. But it's what he would say in a normal situation, and the only thing he can think to ask right now.

But Sans tenses, grip clenching around the blade, and the sight is actually kind of terrifying. "It doesn't matter why _I_ was there. What matters is what _this_ was doing in there."

With monumental effort, Papyrus tries to move. His arms feel like overcooked pasta, barely able to support his weight, but he manages to use them as leverage to push himself into a semi-upright position, back braced against the armrest.

This is the conversation that the younger skeleton wanted to avoid at all cost. But if it was going to happen despite his trepidations, he didn't want to be lying by like a dried out Woshua.

Sans watches him struggle, and Papyrus knows his brother wants to get up and help him. Do something. But his anger keeps him rooted to the spot, knife now tapping softly at the ground.

Papyrus wishes he would just put it away already.

"Sans-" He says. The smaller skeleton won't look at him. He's staring at the floor, at the gleam of light that reflects in the sharpened metal, at his own hands. But not at Papyrus.

"Sans, I-" Fuck, this is hard. They've had this conversation a million times over in his mind, and yet now not a single thing seemed to come out. "I'm sorry."

The silence that greets his apology is not very encouraging. Sans curls his hands in his hoodie, stares at his own lap. The knife lies abandoned at his side. "What for? For trying to dust yourself on our living room couch?"

Papyrus shudders at the tone. "I wasn't trying to- It was an accident, Sans."

"An accident?" Sans gets up so fast, Papyrus isn't sure if he just used his powers or not. The knife is back in his hand. "Doing a pratfall in the snow because you're trying to pose on the ice, is an accident. Burning your hands because the water boiled over again, is an accident. Coming home with a fucking crack in your fucking kneecap because Undyne was a bit rough during training. That is a fucking accident."

"But this-" Sans actually throws the knife at him then. Not expertly or meant in a harmful way, but in an angry frenzy that has it bouncing against the wall and landing somewhere on the couch with a dull sound, like he can't even stand looking at it anymore. "This is not an accident. This is you almost killing yourself in our living room!"

Papyrus cringes at the louder volume, but waits for his brother to stop yelling to actually say anything. "I wasn't trying to-"

"And that would have made a difference, would it?" Sans bulldozes right over him, whole frame rigid, movements short and jerking. If he had any hair, he'd probably be pulling it out. "If I hadn't come home when I did... If I-"

And suddenly, Papyrus realizes. Sans is not angry. Sans is afraid. Sans was scared to lose him. Scared that he'd-

This makes everything worse.

The energy seems to drain from Sans, the thought of what would have happened had he not arrived when he did taking the wind out of his sails. He approaches and slumps down next to the couch, knees clacking against their carpet. He's still not looking at Papyrus.

"If you're going to do... stupid stuff like this." He lays one trembling hand against his brother's wrist, fingers barely touching the numerous cuts adoring the ulna, eyes trained on the small trickles of dried red marrow between them. "you shouldn't do them when I'm not here. You shouldn't do them when I'm not here to-"

It seems Sans is having as much difficulty getting the words out, as Papyrus is having simply forming them in his head. He wants to apologize again, but something tells him it won't matter anyway.

They are far beyond regrets by now.

"I know." Papyrus mumbles, laying one hand to cover that of his brother and feeling slight relief when Sans does not pull away.

He does know. Sans is right. No matter how you look at it, Papyrus's coping mechanisms are... faulty. The least he can do is make sure Sans will never come home to an empty house and a pile of dust.

They sit in silence for a bit. Not tense, but not comfortable either. Just the absence of sound and an overwhelming feeling of gratitude.

Then, Sans pulls back his hand and finally looks at him. He's frowning hard, normal smile set in a grim approximation of a smirk. "Will you at least tell me why? I'm _dying_ to know what's caused this, bro."

Papyrus doesn't react to the joke. Sans compulsively uses humor to deflect uncomfortable situations, much as he himself takes a knife and-

"I can't." He says. "Not yet."

Sans does not look pleased with that at all. Papyrus guessed he wouldn't be, but... How could he even begin to explain?

"You have to promise me you will stop this, then." Sans looks at him so intently, so pleadingly, Papyrus almost wishes his brother would start avoiding his gaze again.

He doesn't want to lie to Sans. But he doesn't want to disappoint him either.

His hesitation is as clear as day though. Sans bows his head, eye lights guttering out of existence as he averts his face. "Let me guess: you can't either."

Papyrus doesn't trust his voice to not break on him now, so he shakes his head instead, the movement tight and uncomfortable. He wishes he could. He wishes with his whole soul it could be that easy.

To say that of course he'll stop. Of course he won't hurt himself again.

But things are not that simple.

Still incredibly dizzy, but at least feeling slightly surer of his hand-eye coordination now, Papyrus bends towards Sans and holds him. Feels the thrumming of that fragile soul against his chest, feels his own weak magic answer in kind.

"I will try." He says, so quietly it can barely be heard. "I can't promise... but I can try."

Sans stays stiff against him, arms limp at his side. For a moment Papyrus fears that it's not enough.

But then, he feels his brother's arms come up to hug him back.

"Alright..." Sans breathes against him. "W _e'll_ try."

"... _We'll_ try." Papyrus repeats, voice gaining just the slightest edge of confidence.

His head still throbs like somebody tried to smash it in with a hammer, light burning his vision and every sound deafening to his ears. He's cold and tired and really, _really_ in need of a nice plate of left-over spaghetti.

But it doesn't hurt so bad anymore.

* * *

 **As always, find me on tumblr at:** sharada-n

 **Get in on the angst. Send me fluff requests! God knows I need them...**


	10. Remembrance 1

**This story fits into the Remembrance narrative. You can read the story on my profile, but it's not necessary. All you need to know is that Papyrus remembers resets and has some serious issues. Also, he does not want Sans to find out... AT ALL!**

 **Warning:** Implied Self-Harm (but what else is new with me)

* * *

"Y-You told?" His voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. The look on his face is enough to make your gut twist painfully. Because you can't stand the fact that you caused it.

"What was I supposed to do?" You can't look at his face, so you don't. The betrayal in those eyes is killing you. But what _were_ you supposed to do?

What is anybody supposed to do? When your best friend starts wearing only long-sleeved shirts. When the sleeves bunch up and there are small, red-rimmed markings across smooth white bones. When you see the pained expression on his face as he notices you saw. When you demand he tells you who did this, who's ass you need kick.

When he asks if you can keep a secret.

When he tells you he did it themselves.

When he says it feels good. That it's practically the only thing keeping him sane.

What are you supposed to do then?

Panic fills his eyes. He grabs your shoulders roughly, hard bone digging into soft flesh, and it hurts, but you don't say so. Because the sudden change in his demeanor leaves the words stuck in your throat.

"Who?! Who did you tell, Undyne?!" Maybe he's trying to shake you or maybe he's just trembling too hard to hold still. "I need to know-"

He is so frantic that it scares you. You automatically think back to all the times you thought him too naive to be in the royal guard. All the times you thought he couldn't face the cruelty of the world.

Right now, his tone speaks of experiences you can't begin to phantom.

Right now, he looks as if he could kill somebody.

And the fact that this anger is directed at you only makes it worse.

"Alphys!" You quickly say, laying your hands over his arms. The touch is meant to be comforting in some way, but it feels all wrong. Everything about this feels all wrong. "She's a doctor, she can-"

"Not Sans?" Something seems to break inside him. Perhaps his very soul. Relief washes over him, a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. But it feels wrong as well. Deranged.

When he lets go of you he is grinning like a maniac, but there is no humor in his eyes. He _is_ shaking, now.

"Papyrus-" The sound of his name seems to break him out of a spell. He looks at you then, but there is something on his face that should not be there. "I'm sorry if-"

He laughs. He laughs, but it sounds more like he's just trying to breath, but forgot how. He picks at his arms, picks at the cuts, in what is obviously a habit by now. It's painful to watch. "You know, Undyne. I thought I could trust you..."

There is so much you want to say to that. So many things you could say. But at the same time you can't. Because his face is full of those things that you've been trying to protect him from all along.

Disappointment. Disillusionment. Hate.

Directed at you.

"I thought you were my friend. Friends don't tell secrets..."

Anger rises in you then. It boils from somewhere deep inside and you grasp it with both hands, harbor it, because it is familiar and easy and the only thing that still makes sense to you.

"Friends don't keep secrets either."

You meant it as a mild reproach, but the words seem to hit him like physical blows. He hunches in on himself, almost shrinking under your gaze, and somehow, you just made it worse.

"Never mind..." He isn't looking at you anymore. "It's been a week since the human left. It won't be long now. And next time..."

He sighs, long and deep, and it's like you can see the weight of the world on his shoulder, crushing him. Like you can see him fading away before your very eyes.

"Next time I'll know not to trust you."

* * *

 **Just one more Angst-shot after this. Then, I'll write some fluff...**


	11. Remembrance 2 - UF

**Similar to last, this one-shot is inspired by my Remembrance AU, but this time with a twist. The twist being: Underfell.**

 **What happens when UF Papyrus remembers resets...**

 **Warnings:** Implied self-harm, consensual bone breaking, UF Papyrus is not a happy munchkin...

* * *

"Y

"You haven't slept for days, have you?"

Papyrus isn't sure how Flowey can tell. As far as he knows, skeleton biology doesn't allow for outward signs of fatigue.

Then again, flower biology doesn't usually allow for them to be sentient either, and here they are.

"I don't want to sleep." He grumbles, drags a hand down his face, feeling the sharp edge of a scar against his fingertips. Digs them in, hard.

"Don't." Flowey wraps a vine around his wrist and pulls it down. He doesn't like seeing Papyrus hurt himself.

The skeleton wrenches back a bit for show, but relents after a few seconds. They both know it doesn't work like that.

"You should sleep." Flowey chides softly, voice soft like it's comforting a child.

Papyrus shakes his head stubbornly. "I can't- I need to-" Saying it out loud doesn't work. Emotions never come easy for him. Luckily, his best friend doesn't need words to understand him.

Understand that he _can't_ sleep. _Needs_ to stay awake. Cherish every moment.

Here, he can touch his brother, without him flinching. Here, he can tell Sans that he cares. Here, he can breath and live and-

And any moment they'll be forced back. Back to where Sans look at him with weary eyes full of fear. Where he has to pretend to hate.

Where he has to kill or be killed.

"Hurt me." He demands.

"Papyrus-" The tone has an edge of warning. Because Flowey doesn't like when they do this. But knows he can't refuse him either.

"Now!" He tugs harder then, trying to slip his hand from the flower's grasp. "Or I'll fucking do it myself!"

The vine tightens out of reflex, eyes full of pity regarding him. "Show me."

So he does. Shows the tears across his spine. The unaligned vertebrae that grind with every move.

Shows the cuts along his ulna. The shattered phalanges. The small crack at the base of his skull, just above the cervical curve.

Flowey takes it in without a sound. Just looks at the various ways in which Papyrus destroys himself. Or allows himself to be destroyed.

After a few moments, he hums, carefully prodding at a crack in his sternum. "You really made a mess of yourself this time, huh."

"It doesn't matter. They'll disappear." Papyrus murmurs. He can't remember the last time he cared about himself.

He sticks out his arm again, braces a fist against the ground. "Break it."

Flowey hesitates, but knows there is no use refusing. Papyrus _will_ break it himself, if he won't. And at least he makes it a clean, fast snap.

He does it quickly, the sound dying away barely before it started. And Papyrus doesn't make a noise either. His pain tolerance is way above such things.

But he grinds his teeth and forces his eyes shut, welcoming the pain that drowns out all else.

For a moment, he doesn't have to think about how much better the world is in this timeline. And how it won't stay that way for long.

For a moment, there is only the feeling of splintered bone and dripping marrow.

When the pain ebbs away enough so he can actually hear again, head still swimming from the overwhelming sensation, Flowey is right there.

"Will you sleep now...?" There is a pleading tone to his voice that should make Papyrus mad. But he hasn't the energy. "Please?"

He breathes in and out slowly, concentrates on the waves of hurt rolling up his arm.

"I'll sleep."

And he does.

* * *

 **Send me prompts/find me on tumblr:** sharada-n

 **Also: any and all reviews are cherished and worshiped. Thank you for reading!**


	12. Full Plates

**Prompt:** "You haven't even touched your food." - King Papyrus ending

* * *

You haven't even touched your food..." His brother's voice startles Papyrus, making him look up sharply. "What's going on?"

He has to force down the automatic denial that tries to slip out.

Nothing's wrong. What would possibly be wrong?

It's not like all his friends are dead? It's not like he's expected to just carry on ruling the country as if he in any way would make a suitable ruler? It's not like his brother, the only family he has left, is lying to him on a daily basis?

No, sir. Nothing's wrong. Everything is going just spiffy, thank you very much.

"Papyrus?" Sans tries again, voice slightly firmer.

He blinks, realizing he was just blankly staring at the other's face for a few seconds there. He forces himself to grin, grateful for a skeleton's natural disposition for such a facial expression.

It makes it easier to fake his smiles.

"It's nothing, brother." He says, averting his gaze back to his plate. Just as Sans says, the noodles lie limp and untouched and the tomato sauce has taken on a rather unpleasant, half-congealed consistency. "I had too much for lunch."

Empty sockets rake over him for a second, and Papyrus has to try hard not to shiver under their scrutiny. When Sans looks at him this way, it's almost as if his brother can see straight through him.

But then his brother chuckles, and Papyrus remembers that's not true. He's excellent at deceiving Sans. Just as Sans deceives him continually.

It's just the way their relationship works.

It hasn't always been that way, and sometimes it saddens Papyrus to think about this, but it's how things are now and it works for them.

"Really, bro? That's a first..." Sans seems pleased. He is one of the only ones who knows about the tall skeleton's... irregular eating habits.

Papyrus fiddles with his fork, pushing the food around on his plate. Almost absentmindedly, he gestures his head in the general direction of the library. "I made something from the queen's cooking books. Quiche Lorraine? I think it turned out quite well..."

Sans says nothing, hands clenched tightly around the edge of the table, as he always does when Papyrus mentions the former ruler.

"There was some left-over, if you want it." He offers, watching his brother relax again and recompose the grin back onto his face.

They're not that different at all.

"Maybe later..." Sans says. He seems to be casting his mind around for a pun, but comes up empty. That happens a lot lately, Papyrus has noticed.

Looking back down at his plate, he carelessly lets the fork slip from his hand, clattering loudly against the wooden surface.

His chair makes a screeching noise when he scrapes it against the floor, avoiding his brother's eyes when he pushes back from the table.

When he's almost out of the room, he stops.

"Sans..." Papyrus pauses, wanting his voice to be loud and clear. He doesn't feel like he'll be able to ask this twice. "People can eat anything they want on vacation, right?"

To his credit, Sans answers immediately, no trace of hesitation in his voice. "Of course, Paps."

Papyrus is grateful that he's not facing his brother. He doesn't want Sans to see his grimace.

"Good. I'm glad." He lies, and leaves the room.

* * *

 **As always, thank you to the people who commented. It's appreciated!**

 **If you want to leave me a prompt, my tumblr is: sharada-n**


	13. Knock on wood

**Thank god for the people who request fluff. I need them as a breather from time to time...**

 **Prompt:** Frisk and Papyrus - fluff

* * *

"Are you alright in there? You're so quiet."

You stifle a giggle, resting your head back against the hard surface of the door. You're _always_ quiet, but leave it to the Great Papyrus to still notice your sullen mood.

You hear him shift around, the soft clacking of bones as he sits down on the carpeted floor. You imagine how it looks, his tall frame hunched up, all sharp angles and awkward positions.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks, and you hear the scraping of his fingers against the door, gently. He wants to open it, wants to do something to help you, but doesn't want to invade on your privacy either, and for that you are thankful.

You love all your monster family. You really do. But sometimes you think Papyrus is the only one who _truly_ understands you. The only one who doesn't treat you like a little child, at least.

Since he knows how tiring it can be when people do that.

You knock against the door, not hard, but just enough to make a sound, so he knows you're listening. You hear a little answering thud, before he gasps with a sudden thought.

"The Great Papyrus has a marvelous idea, Frisk." He announces. "I saw this in a human movie a few days ago." The sound of him shifting around into a more comfortable position reaches you through the wooden barrier, and when he speaks next, his voice is slightly louder.

"I'll ask you a question, and you can answer by knocking. Once for yes and twice for no. It's just like morse code."

The skeleton sounds disproportionately excited for such a simple thing, and it makes the corners of your mouth pull up automatically.

"So, do you? Want talk, that is."

You shift around, facing the door now as well, and knock your fist against it once. There's a few seconds of silence, before he speaks again.

"Ah, great. I'm sure I can help. Sans always says I'm quite excellent at cheering people up. What's bothering you?"

You barely have them to react, when you actually feel him hit his head against the door.

"Agh- never mind. That's wasn't a yes-no question. I'm sorry."

You hit the door twice. _Don't be._

"Alright, let's see..." His voice trails off for a bit as he contemplates his options. "The thing that upset you. Was it something I did?"

You signal a quick negative.

"Was it something Sans did? Did he do the space-time thing again, because I keep telling him-"

You knock two times again.

The cycle continues for a while. With Papyrus naming various people or events, in obvious increasing ridiculousness, and your soft responses in answer. By the end of it, you're suppressing a serious case of the giggles.

"-Was it the window again? Because Undyne has an extraordinary habit of breaking any glass surface she encounters. It's a bit impressive, actually. But I keep telling her there are better ways to nail the landing..."

Your shoulders shake in barely subdued laughter. Quickly you tap the wooden surface again, three times now. It only takes a split second for Papyrus to pull open the door.

"Alas, little human, this is quite the enigma." He tries to frown, but the purpose is defeated by the permanent grin etched into his skull. You know he's just joking anyway. "I have guessed all I could think of, and yet. It seems we have encountered the only puzzle the Great Papyrus can't solve..."

You pat his gloved hand in a display of compassion and he actually smirks at you. "Why _were_ you upset?"

You blink twice, then shrug. You honestly can't recall anymore.

He winks audibly at you, knowing smile back on his face. "Right! Well, we could still go down and make some cheer-up spaghetti. You know, just in case?"

The barrier between you is gone, but you knock against the wooden frame once anyway. Spaghetti sounds perfect right now.

* * *

 **As always, the tumblr is: sharada-n**


	14. Praises

**Prompt:** "Are you eating alright?" - Undyne to Papyrus

 **Warnings** : Eating disorder, child abuse, Bad Gaster

 **This ties into chapter 7, as it's the same timeline.**

* * *

Today they finished early, cooking lesson miraculously causing less collateral damage than was usual for the two of them.

Undyne is busy scraping the remnants of the not-quite completely burnt sauce onto a healthy portion of not-quite soft noodles. By their standards, it looks positively delicious.

When he notices he has been staring, Papyrus blinks, trying to swallow but ending up slightly coughing instead. His fingers grip the edge of her counter tightly, bones scraping against wood, and Undyne looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Something wrong?" She asks, voice uncharacteristically quiet. A tone she only ever employs with him, as far as he knows. Worry? The thought makes him itch.

He doesn't like it when people worry about him.

The lump that seems to have taken up residence in his throat makes it hard for Papyrus to answers, so he shakes his head instead, trying and probably failing at looking casual.

There is a distinctly empty feeling at the center of his chest. The feeble cry of magic that needs to be fed.

With a small frown, Undyne turns away from him again, finishing up filling the plastic container with fresh, delicious, mouthwatering-

He mentally slaps himself, soul constricting tight enough to physically ache.

 _Bad. Stop. You don't deserve it._

That voice is still with him, even if the face has faded with time, and the name has been lost to the void.

The person is gone, but the effects linger. He only needs to close his eyes and he's there.

* * *

"You wouldn't do this to your brother, would you?" Commanding, conceited. Just the right amount of sadistic pleasure and cold detachment.

The child shakes his head desperately, hands clawing the floor until the fingertips are cracked and chaffed. Dust on the ground.

"Please, sir. Please." He feels empty, drained. There is barely enough magic left to fulfill even the most basic of functions, let alone what the doctor is demanding.

There are feet next to his head, inches from his face. Leather shoes.

You can eat leather, right? His mind almost wants to rejoice at the thought.

"12 more hours." There is almost pleasure in that voice. Almost pride. And a lot of curiosity. "Don't disappoint me, P-2."

The energy for tears is lacking, so he dry sobs instead. If this isn't what dying feels like, Papyrus doesn't know any more.

"P-please. I can't-" His voice breaks, tempers off into pure agony. "P-Please... Dad-"

Something hits him between the ribs, hard. The shoe he might have been contemplating eating a few second ago.

The starvation has made the bones brittle, and one breaks under the pressure. Snaps clean in two.

There is only pain and hunger and cold then. Gaster's voice carries through the haze like it's echoing of the recesses of his sanity.

"This is an important test. Don't make me conduct it on your brother, since you turn out to be such a miserable failure."

His mind reels, screaming at him, tearing at the edges of his skull.

No, please, no. Sans wouldn't survive that. Sans wouldn't- PLEASE-

He feels sick, body consuming itself, and yet he clenches his hands and endures. Always endures.

"Good boy."

The praise sounds hollow, like it's just a tool the doctor uses to get what he wants. Papyrus craves it still. Good children get to eat. Being good feeds his brother.

He doesn't care about the hunger anymore. He doesn't care about the pain or the lightheadedness.

As long as Sans has food, he doesn't mind starving.

He sticks his own fingers in his mouth and tries not to chew too hard.

Dust doesn't taste like much. But the texture is enough to at least sate the burning in his none-existent stomach.

Just 12 more hours.

* * *

"Hey Papyrus?" Her voices drags him out of his memories. Undyne seems to be considering her words with a sideways glance in his direction. An assessing gaze. "Are you eating properly? You don't look it."

His smile might have been more of a grimace by now, but he gives a casual shrug. "Oh, you know me. I've been busy..."

His magic protests, rolling inside him. He pushes it down harshly. It's only been 48 hours. It's nothing. You've had so much worse.

Besides, he can't eat know. He knows himself too well.

Anything that would go in now, would only come out half-consumed, glistening and wet and disgusting, as his body continues the ever present struggle between the need for nutrition, and the self-hating thoughts consuming his skull.

He doesn't deserve it. He's not been good enough. He's-

 _You can't have any food if you cry. That's the rule._

"Here." Undyne is pushing the still lukewarm container into his hands, avoids his gaze discreetly. Like she knows he won't like what he would see in her one remaining eye. "You did well today, Paps."

Papyrus isn't sure if he should laugh or cry. He ends up just staring blankly, trying not to break down completely.

"Thank you."

He'll probably eat tonight.

* * *

 **Thank you for the comments!**

 **My tumblr can be found on: -n**


	15. Emtpy Plates

**Another continuation in the same timeline as the previous chapter. This AU is taking over me.**

 **Prompt:** What if Gaster runs an experiment, where he brings Papyrus a plate of food each day, and tells him that anything he doesn't eat, will be given to Sans? He doesn't even touch it at first but one day he can't stop himself and eats everything, then panics, because now Sans has no food.

 **Warnings:** Eating Disorder, Child Abuse, Self-hatred.

* * *

The plate is just kind of… there. Right in front of you. Like its mere presence in the room is a challenge. A mockery.

Self-Control. Keep enduring. You stare at it and try not to drool.

How long has it been? You're not sure anymore. The room is bare and cold and there is not the slightest indication of time passing. You've been through this process 8 times already, which means it could have been 3 days or maybe 9 or anything in between.

You close your eyes and rake your brain to find out, but the only thing there is emptiness. As empty as your soul feels right now.

It aches, a physical burn that keeps you from sleeping. Keeps you from moving. Keeps you from doing anything but wait for the doctor to come back and finally take pity on you.

But when he comes he only brings this. A traitors offering.

You move closer towards it, crawling on hands and knees because you're just too dizzy to stand.

It's right there, just within arms reach. All you need to do is take a piece and-

You stop, smack your skull against the floor until the sound of bone against tile drowns out all else.

Don't. Think about your brother. Think about Sans.

You gasp for air, not because you need it, but just to savor the sensation of your mouth being filled with something at least. Bite marks litter your ulna, but it's not enough. Never enough.

Dry bread, dark and flavorless and utterly disgusting looking. You stare at it and realize you've never craved anything more in your life.

Maybe if you just have a little taste? Just one piece to tide you over. That couldn't hurt, could it?

You touch it and it's hard, like a brick. But it looks edible, _anything_ looks edible to you right now, and oh so tantalizing.

You didn't realize you were giggling until the sound of your own slightly crazed laughter reaches your ears and you stop.

Just one piece. Just one bite.

With careful consideration, you break the bread, tearing off just the tiniest chunk. It's small, easily hides away in the palm of your hand, yet it looks like more than you can possibly tolerate.

Think of your bother. Think of Sans.

You hesitate, stare at the food in your hand. The forbidden fruit of your sins.

Weak. Selfish. Greedy.

You put it in your mouth, forcing yourself to chew extremely slowly. Appreciate the texture. Savor the taste. Because it's all you're going to get.

It's wonderful and delicious and makes you want to die a little bit more.

If it wasn't such a huge waste of energy, you'd be crying right now.

But it's over all too soon, and when you swallow, feel the conversion of substance to magic, the tingling in your bones,…

It's not enough. It's not enough by far.

You open your sockets and stare at the plate. It looks just the same as before. If you didn't know any better, you'd think you never even touched it.

It's still so full and you're still so empty.

You feel even worse now. Like there's something missing inside you, and the only thing you managed to accomplish was make the absence grow. More pronounced.

It's with a startling revelation that you realize you're hungrier than ever before.

You go still, completely rigid, listening for the doctor's footsteps in the hallway, but there's only silence.

One more bite should be alright, shouldn't it? Sans is small. He doesn't need that much, does he? You need to be there for him. You can't do that if you can barely stand.

Think of your brother. Think of Sans.

Just one more bite.

You struggle onto your knees and take another piece. And another. And another.

There is a pit inside you that demands to be filled. And slowly it does. Energy comes flooding back like some dam has been broken inside you. You wouldn't be able to stop even if you had the presence of mind to try.

Until your done and you realize your sitting in front of an empty plate.

No more food. No more food for Sans.

Think about your brother. Your poor, lonely, hungry brother.

The thought hits you hard and crippling and everything clenches inside you, suddenly desperate to get out.

You did this. You took this from him. You-

You're a horrible person.

Sickness overwhelms you, a nausea that begins beneath your ribs and tears its way into the small space behind your sacrum. You could stop it, force it back down, but part of you doesn't want to.

Part of you knows this is exactly what you deserve.

It spills out, acid and bile and magic residue, a sickly mix of orange and brown and gray.

It splatters against the tiles, against your hands, against your shirt. It tastes like your own self-hate and smells like failure.

You stop, sobbing and heaving, then force your body to dispel more. Force it all out of you.

Magic contracts, tries to rebel, but your control has always been excellent. It keeps coming, and you don't stop until your empty again. Until it's all out.

Tears prickle at the corners of your sockets, and you see your own mess through blurred vision.

Good boys don't take what's not theirs to have. Think of Sans. Think of your brother.

Now neither of you will eat. All wasted on the floor. You ruined everything.

You can't find the energy to wipe it off. Can't find the energy to move.

Just curl into a ball and wish it would stop hurting.

* * *

 **My tumblr is: sharada-n**


	16. Everything is fine

**Prompt:** Can I have a continuation of what happened after Papyrus dusts himself because he can't stay with Sans anymore?

 **So it's basically a** **sequel to chapter 5...**

* * *

"Are you sure you're ok?" They ask you again.

Weird. People have been asking that a lot lately. You aren't sure why.

Of course you're fine. you're always _just_ fine. That's the way you function.

You ask your brother when you get home that day.

Do you look different? More tired? Less laid back?

Papyrus doesn't answer. Hasn't been answering for a while now.

You think he's probably still mad at you for the other night.

You sit next to him on the couch and watch Mettaton for the rest of the evening.

Not a word is spoken between the two of you, but that doesn't really matter.

As long as you're together, everything is fine.

* * *

Alphys calls a lot. Undyne calls a lot. People are continually knocking at your door.

Papyrus doesn't go to answer them and you sure as hell won't, so they leave.

Sometimes they bring food, growing cold on your doorstep.

You don't understand why. Papyrus has always cooked for the both of you. You open the fridge and find it empty.

It triggers something inside you. Distant and cold and suffocating. No more spaghetti. Never again.

Your mind pushes the thought away. Blink, and it's gone.

It's fine. It's all fine. You can go to Grillby's.

"I'll be right back." You tell Papyrus. He doesn't answer. Still sulking?

You promised him you would stop going, after all. But it's hard to stay away.

"Don't get to _bon_ ely without me, bro." You say, touching him briefly -cold glass- before you head out the door.

You end up staying at the bar a few hours. Everybody is so happy to see you, more than usual, and you can't resist the warmth and companionship. Just a couple of drinks.

You talk and joke and soak up the laughter. You feel good.

Somewhere, you mention Papyrus. Maybe you comment on the fact that you've been having a little... argument, recently.

The bar gets hushed, temperature taking a sudden drop.

Why? It's not like the two of you have never had a fight before?

You tell them it's fine. Everything is fine. And next time, you'll bring Papyrus with you for a few drinks.

Won't that just be fun?

* * *

You stumble in drunkenly, hands fumbling for the light switch. It's too dark, everything is cold and sharp and your head feels fuzzy.

Maybe that last round of fire shots had been a bad idea?

You make it to the kitchen when your soul stops.

Dust. Dust everywhere.

And in the middle, a piece of red fabric. A scarf?

You shake your head until the image is gone.

Stupid nightmares. You need sleep.

But not before reading Papyrus his bed time story of course.

Because you're fine. You're a good brother and everything is fine.

* * *

"This is not healthy anymore, Sans. You need to stop this!"

Her voice is loud, too loud. But you're too hungover to do anything about it. You roll over, trying to show her your back, but she will not be ignored.

You feel like crying. Because when she's here, your head hurts and everything is painful. Something creeps in. Something that you want to ignore, but refuses to be forgotten.

Always there. Always lurking. And it's not fine.

"Leave us alone." You mumble, and your hands cradle him. Hold him.

Hold your brother close to you. Papyrus. _Dust_.

"Fucking hell!" Undyne curses under her breath, hands held up as if she wants to do something, but is at a loss as to what. "This is not what he would have wanted, Sans."

The words burn into you. Why is she doing this? Why is she talking about Papyrus as if he's not right here? Why does she have to make everything _not fine_?

You want to scream, empty sockets sting, but you refuse to let her see. "I'm fine, Undyne. _We're_ fine."

"He's dead, ok! He's fucking dead, Sans, and you can't keep on pretending he's not. You're impossible to deal with! This is exactly why he-"

She cuts herself off, the guilt slipping onto her features even before the words die out.

Why did she have to go and do that? Why did she have to say it out loud? Speak the truth. Break the disillusion.

But it's too late. Nothing is fine anymore. Nothing ever will be.

* * *

You did this. You caused this. Everything is your fault.

The jar sits heavy in your hands.

His dust. The dust you scraped off the kitchen floor.

 _You dirty brother killer._

Falling down is easy. Getting up is infinitely harder.

So you don't even try.

This is fine. Everything is fine.

You deserve to be together again.

* * *

 **Find me on tumblr: sharada-n**

 **As always, thanks for reading. Comments are appreciated!**


	17. Lies

**Prompt:** Underfell - Angsty fluff

 **Warnings:** very vaguely implied self-harm

* * *

"I don't think I can do this anymore." He grumbles, falling down on their couch as though literally collapsing under the weight of the world, ignoring the sound of coins lost eons ago beneath the cushions.

Sans can't do much more than frown at him. He's wet, tired and cold. Not the ideal state to deal with his brother's existential crisis, as one would say.

Papyrus runs one hand down his face, and there is no scowl anymore. His fingers trace down his ruined eye socket with an almost nauseated look on his face, hunched in on himself as if he wishes the ground could just swallow him whole.

He looks small. Worried. Vulnerable.

It makes Sans sick. Any bare display of fragility like a red flag screaming "kill me, I'm free EXP!" and they haven't come this far for Papyrus to pussy out on him now.

"Stop that." He grabs the other's wrist and pulls down. His brother startles, but then raises his head and bares his sharp fangs at him.

"Why?" bitterness is seeping through every word. "Not like it matters anyway." He's trying to pull free, but Sans doesn't let go.

Doesn't want to watch as his younger brother picks at the edges of his socket again, breaking of little pieces of bone that flutter into dust.

Papyrus doesn't deal well with their situation. He doesn't like hurting people. He doesn't like killing people. He doesn't like hating people.

So he hates himself instead.

And Sans doesn't know what to do about it. Knows that every day in this world is breaking his brother a bit more on the inside, and he's not sure if they'll ever be able to put him back together again.

"Stop being a baby." He hisses, venom in his voice.

Papyrus frowns at him, face caught somewhere between anger and desperation. His eyes are burning red and his entire frame is shaking now.

"Can't we just go? Please, Sans, we don't need all this. We can just leave." His hand gestures at the room around them. The warmth. The food. The security.

Papyrus would leave this all behind? Return to the streets, fighting for survival, just because he can't handle himself?

Sans snarls and his grip tightens. "What the fuck are you going on about now? You know damn well why things are the way they are. Or do you want to get us both killed?"

His brother flinches, face turning away quickly. The guilt is almost instantaneous, and Sans lets go, startled by his own vexation.

Neither says anything, and for a moment, it's like Sans can physically feel the gap between them.

Since when did that get there?

He opens his mouth but no sound leaves and all he can think is that he's right.

Papyrus is terrible at being terrible, and they will both wind up dead soon.

"I'm sorry." He mutters instead, knowing full well it won't fix anything. "I'm sorry. We'll be okay."

Papyrus looks at him and nods, but he can tell his brother doesn't believe him.

Sans doesn't even believe himself.

* * *

 **A big thank you to everybody that bothered to comment. you guys make me so happy!**


	18. One more drink

**Prompt:** Fluff with drunk skelebros.

* * *

"Will you pour me another one?" Sans asks.

Papyrus tries to reach for the bottle, but his hand-eye coordination fails him and he tips it over instead. Both brothers stare at the amber liquid spilling onto their carpet for a moment before they burst out laughing like idiots.

"No-no-no..." Papyrus mumbles to himself, sitting forward and trying not to pitch onto his face. "We need to clean this. Stop giggling."

He reaches for the bottle again, this time managing in grabbing it where it lays. He pours the remaining alcohol into his brother's glass.

"You're giggling more than I am." Sans slurs, drinking it all in one go.

The lack of throat makes the burn less severe, and his hand is not shaking when he plops the glass back down on the table.

Papyrus sits back against the cushions again, jabbing his brother in the side with an elbow. "Am not."

Sans snorts at him. "You totally are, bro."

They sit in silence for a while, either too drunk or too lazy to fetch another bottle. The smaller skeleton has just started to drift off, head tilting sideways, when the other speaks.

"Hey Sans... Do you-" He stops for a moment and giggles again. "Do you ever wonder if the world would be better of without you?"

An inebriated state is not a good state to answer existential questions in, but to his credit, Sans tries to rally the attention this needs, one hand grasping his brother's knee.

There are a lot of eloquent responses in his head but the one that finally makes it out is: "What?"

Papyrus rubs his hands down his face, as if that somehow could help him clear his mind. "I mean the world, Sans. It's... It's really big, you know?"

Sans fiddles with his hands. "Yeah, bro. I know."

"No. I mean it's... really big." And to emphasize his meaning, Papyrus spreads his arms wide and knocks his brother in the nasal bone. He doesn't seem to notice though. "The world is really enormous and there's a lot of it, Sans."

With some hesitance Sans nods, wondering how many glasses his brother really had. "The world is really big." He confirms.

Papyrus grins sourly, brow creased as if he's smelling something unpleasant. "Right, so... Nobody would really notice. If I'm gone."

He leans into Sans, who tries to lean back but ends up getting semi-crushed under his brother's weight instead. "I would notice."

Papyrus hums, bones clacking softly against each other.

"I would notice because then nobody would be picking up my dirty socks."

And just like that they dissolve into fits of giggles again.

When the laughter subsides they stay like that, half on each other and the couch.

"It wouldn't be better of either." Sans says suddenly, poking his brother's face to see if he fell asleep already. "Without you, I mean. It would not be better."

Papyrus opens his eyes and looks at him.

"In fact." Sans continues, poking again just because he can. "I think it would be rather more shitty."

With a small grunt, Papyrus buries his face into the couch cushions. "If you say so."

And if Sans wasn't so drunk, he might have heard the doubt in his brother's voice.

* * *

 **If you liked it, feel free to leave a comment. They always cheer me up!**


	19. Have some Sangst

**I wrote this almost 2 months ago but forgot to post it since it wasn't really a prompt. I hope you enjoy anyway!**

* * *

When Papyrus spoke his first word, it was your name.

Not that this came as a complete surprise. A child's first endeavor into verbal communication is often calling out to their parents. A call for attention. For food. For comfort.

But since the two of you had no mother to speak of, and father was always out, it was simply "Sans". Followed in quick succession with the word "brother".

And you would have been lying if you said this didn't fill you with a thrilling kind of pride. A little burst of happiness at the revelation that, however small or insignificant, however fleeting, you are the center of his precious life.

Your first word was "sleep" and isn't that just telling?

After that came other words, and it quickly became apparent that once Papyrus started talking, it would be hard to make him stop, as he advanced his vocabulary at an almost alarming rate.

Not that you would try.

Every sound was music to your ears, and you could listen to him all day.

* * *

Over the years, your sentiment changes slightly.

Often, he is yelling. Excited or angry or frustrated, but always loud.

And so many times, it's on the tip of your tongue to tell him to just shut up for once.

Because he never stops talking.

About humans. About Undyne. About his puzzles.

Papyrus talks and talks, and somewhere along the way, you stop hearing him. Somehow, everything he says becomes white noise, a background music that slips into one earhole and out of the other.

You're not home much anymore, so it doesn't bother you.

He keeps making noise and you keep nodding along. You don't hear anything he says.

* * *

Until he gets quiet. Until the human comes through and he's lying in the snow, all torn up and dusty.

Suddenly, you have to strain to hear his voice.

Suddenly, it occurs to you that he may have been talking to fill the silence.

Suddenly, you wonder if he was lonely.

Suddenly, you wish you had been listening all along.

He's not dead when the human leaves and you sink to your knees in the snow beside him, but he's getting there fast.

And isn't it fitting, that the first and last word out of his mouth should be exactly the same.

"I'm sorry…. Sans."


	20. Tea for three

**Prompt:** Post-pacifist fluff. Asgore, Alphys and Papyrus at night in the kitchen, after being woken up by a nightmare.

* * *

His nightmares are always so bright.

Sometimes, it's harsh lighting against tile walls. There's a face that he can't quite see, can't quite remember, just at the edge of his peripheral vision. There's tubes and scalpels and pain.

But Papyrus doesn't actually know what these dreams are about. Can't recall them. Only wakes up with an unsettling dread in his gut and a pounding in the back of his head.

Sometimes, it's soft light filtering through the barrier, a sun they won't ever get to see. It casts shadow through windows, illuminates the dying flowers, and Papyrus fiddles with the crown on his skull.

But he'll wake up and remember those times are gone. He'll stare at the ceiling until he can ground himself, until he's sure he doesn't need to watch them fall anymore.

Most often, it is snow. An unending whiteness burning into his vision. The sound of shuffling footsteps on frost.

And he knows, he knows this is when he dies.

He wakes up shaking, just as the imagined knife digs into his vertebrae, the sting still there. He's grinding his teeth against the sound that threatens to come out, swallows it down as to not wake his brother.

When he turns his head, he can see Sans in the other bed, on his stomach. The sheets shift as the small skeleton moves subconsciously, but he doesn't wake up.

Papyrus sighs softly in relief.

He closes his eyes again, but there is only white, only cold. He opens them quickly and realizes sleep is out of the question for now.

Just lying in bed listening to the silence isn't very tempting either, so he gets out of bed instead, being careful to avoid making too much noise.

It's dark, but Papyrus doesn't need the light to see. He circumvents the third step on their stairs, knowing it creaks something horrible.

In the living room he notices an odd glow illuminating the couch. The kitchen light is on.

He's not the only one still awake.

He considers going back upstairs, unwilling to disturb whomever is there, but he thinks of the nightmare and rubs a hand down his ulna. Some company might be nice right now.

Rounding the corner, it turns out to be King Asgore who is still up, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and a book in front of him.

"Good evening, your highness." Papyrus says, and the large monster startles a bit. He obviously did not expect anybody else to be awake at this hour.

"Good heavens, Papyrus. It's..." Asgore glances as the clock, while Papyrus walks around the table to fetch a cup as well. "It's nearly three in the morning, what are you doing up?"

There is a lie on the tip of his proverbial tongue, but Papyrus reminds himself that they are not underground anymore. That he doesn't need to deceive anymore.

"I had a bad dream." He pours in the tea, telling by color it's the golden flower one that the king prefers. "It's stupid." He adds after a second.

"Dreams are rarely stupid." Asgore answers, closing his book with a dull thud and cradling his cup instead. Papyrus decides to take the chair opposite him.

When the skeleton notices, he grimaces. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your reading, your highness."

Asgore merely laughs. It's a soft, warm sound. "You are not disturbing me at all, Papyrus. And I'm not a king anymore, remember."

Papyrus nods, taking another sip.

"Maybe, you would like to tell me about your dream?" Asgore asks next, but the skeleton visibly tenses, and he coughs lightly. "Or perhaps, you care to hear about what i'm reading instead? I've heard you like books."

Now it's Papyrus' turn to be surprised. "Who told you that?"

"Sans did." Asgore is smiling pleasantly, fingers tapping against the wooden surface of the table. "He seemed quite nostalgic to a time of reading you stories back-" He stops.

The king doesn't like talking about The Underground, Papyrus noticed. He doesn't sleep a lot, either. And he looks sad when he thinks nobody is looking.

"Of course. Sans reads to me every evening! Well, he used to, but..." Papyrus casts his eyes to the wall in an effort to recall the last time he's actually heard the amazing adventure of fluffy bunny. "But I think we might have neglected the habit a bit since coming to the surface."

Asgore shakes his head solemnly at the admission, even if he's smiling still. "You shouldn't. Family is very important, Papyrus."

There is something in those tender blue eyes that make the skeleton unsure of how to respond, but luckily, he doesn't have to.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to uh-" Alphys trails of awkwardly, fidgeting on her spot right in the kitchen's doorway. "I didn't mean to uhm, disturb, I'll just... go back to bed now."

"Not at all, Alphys. Do join us for a cup of tea, won't you?" Asgore quickly intervenes, before the royal scientist can even turn around.

Alphys goes as pink as the oversized Mew Mew Kissy Cutie shirt she wears as nightwear, seemingly wanting nothing more than to disappear into thin air.

But the king's kind voice is hard to refuse, and she nods, quickly shuffling her way to the counter so she doesn't have to look them in the face anymore.

"So how come you're awake?" Papyrus asks, trying not to stare at her back as she prepares a cup of tea for herself too.

"Ah, w-well, It's just..." Alphys stutters, dropping her spoon twice in the process. "Just... dreams, you know."

Her voice is almost impossibly quiet when she says the second part, but Papyrus and Asgore hear anyway. They share a glance between them and grin.

"Yes, we know." Papyrus confirms, resting his head on one hand.

Alphys puts her cup on the table and climbs the chair with some effort, face caught somewhere between a smile and an expression of nervous nausea.

Asgore clears his throat. "So, Alphys. Do you like books?"

* * *

 **If you like, do leave a comment? :3**

 **Find me on tumblr: sharada-n**


	21. Consequences

**This work is a commission for the lovely Caro on tumblr! Thank you so so much for commissioning me!  
**

 **They requested more about Adult Papyrus dealing with the fallout of Badster denying him food as a punishment.**

* * *

Sometimes, he likes to pretend it doesn't affect him anymore.

Like the years have filled up the gaps, the memories of clawing at the floor and licking moisture from the walls in a desperate plea for fluids. Like they have magically wiped away days of chewing on his own fingers and trying to ignore the emptiness inside him.

But the truth is, it hasn't really left him at all.

Papyrus can still sense _him_ , eyes boring into the back of his skull, a disappointed sigh seconds from leaving his mouth.

He can feel it every time he opens the fridge. He can smell it in the scents drifting up from his stove. He can see it in the full bags of groceries he comes home with. He can hear it in the clattering of fork and knife against porcelain.

Everywhere, Papyrus is aware of it. And he's almost certain it will never leave him either.

* * *

It fades away for a while, when the human finally makes all the right decisions. It gets smothered in sunshine and fresh air. In new beginnings and freedom.

Papyrus doesn't really think about it then, about the guilt or the feeling of being completely devoid, busy with everything that a mass immigration entails.

Moving boxes and furniture. Painting walls and shaking hands. And if he forgets to eat for a few days straight, then that's just normal right? The Great Papyrus can't think of everything, after all.

But eventually the ruckus calms down, and he's standing in something maybe eerily similar to the bar Grillby maintained back in Snowdin, something which might make it harder to remember.

The timelines tend to blur together in his dreams anyway.

The tables are overflowing with food, almost making it look like they're trying to feed a small army and not just a number of close friends. Papyrus stares at it in silence.

His hands itch so he tries clenching them instead, tries to ignore the despair creeping its way up his spine.

 _"Do you think you deserve this? Do you really?"_

He lets the others go first. He watches as they eat and drink and laugh, the sounds easing their way into his head until he can almost breathe again. Almost able to think there's enough.

He nearly doesn't dare approach it either, like it will disappear if he wants it too hard. If he indulges in his selfishness.

Maybe he just shouldn't.

But he knows it would look weird if he didn't, so he tries to keep his fingers steady, willing them to not give him away.

For a moment, Papyrus is reminded of that one time it became so bad he actually saw a plate of dry bread that wasn't actually there. How his small knees scraped against the tiles as he crawled towards it, reached out with shaking fingers just like he's doing now, fingers which moved right through the food.

The mind of a 5 year old can play some cruel tricks.

When Sans clasps him on the back, Papyrus almost screams. His brother is laughing, he is talking, and Papyrus knows he doesn't remember. Maybe he never knew in the first place?

It is infinitely better that way.

* * *

He always makes spaghetti. Heaps and heaps of it, more than they could ever eat. But that's the entire point, isn't it?

Because when he opens the fridge and it's full of plastic containers, he can function again for a while.

And this doesn't change, no matter if they're Underground or on the surface.

Maybe he asks Sans if he's hungry about a hundred times a day, but his brother doesn't complain, mistaking pure distress for regular brotherly worry.

When he goes to Grillby's, Papyrus wants to strangle him, caught between the subconscious happiness that his brother is eating, and the voice resonating in his skull about nutrients and health.

About making every meal count, because it's potentially the last one you're going to get for a long time. About stocking up on food, should it be denied next time.

But he can't say so out loud, swallowing it down instead, chocking on it like a piece of rock.

Only once did he try that, and father wasn't very pleased.

Sitting at the table and staring at a plate of pasta, waiting for it to slowly go cold. His stomach feels too tight for him to take a bite, so he puts it back.

Maybe Sans will want it when he comes home?

* * *

"I really don't get why you love it so much, it doesn't taste like anything."

Papyrus stares at the oatmeal in his spoon, at the bland grayish color and soggy texture.

Undyne is right. It doesn't taste like anything.

But he can't tell her that's exactly the point. The flavor stays the same going in or coming back out, and that gives a certain sense of comfort. A delusion of wastefulness.

It doesn't need to be enjoyed, just consumed.

It looks the same coming out too and Papyrus can see when he stares into the plate, can hear _his_ voice echoing against the walls.

 _"I guess you just don't care about if you're brother is hungry, do you? How selfish of you. How mundane."_

He is done denying it, like so many times before. He can only nod along to the observations. Because that's what they are. Just facts.

* * *

At night it gets worse. He dreams of fluorescent glares and days of wishing for release, for comfort, for anything. Days where he wondered what his own soul would taste like.

When he wakes up and goes downstairs, he start cooking. It is the only thing that will stop the rattling of his bones.

Flowey looks at him from the edge of the table. He never sleeps. "Did it happen again?"

Papyrus tries to nod, but can't. The wooden spoon bangs against the side of the empty pot, loud and unpleasant, but it drowns out the noise, drowns out the pleading in his memories.

 _"Sir, please, please. I promise I won't do it again. I can be a good boy. I'm so hungry, please…"_

He doesn't react to the vine around his wrist, doesn't say anything. Flowey pulls him towards a chair and his eyes are almost kind, almost concerned, but mostly amused.

"Sit down and eat, you idiot."

With a sigh, Papyrus sinks down. But he doesn't listen.

* * *

 **If you enjoy, please consider leaving a comment!  
**

 **Find me on tumblr: sharada-n**


	22. Reassurance

**Another commission, this time for Eroshiyda on tumblr. Some Alphyne fluff for the soul!**

* * *

"Ok, I'm off now." Undyne's feet clatter against the stairs. She moves through the living room at such a high speed, Alphys needs to lay one claw on her papers to keep them from flying their way off the table.

"A-Alright." She says, talking to Undyne's turned back, since her girlfriend is busy pillaging the fridge. "How long will you be again?"

Undyne rubs one hand along her mouth before responding. "Not sure yet. You know how it gets."

Alphys opens her mouth to muster a response, but before she can, the whirlwind that is Undyne flies by her again, giving her a quick kiss in passing before slamming the door behind her.

She sighs into the empty room, and stands up to retrieve her papers from the floor.

* * *

The outside of the window is a pitch black when she hears the sound of the lock clicking open.

"You're home late..." Alphys mumbles, sitting up until the fuzzy blanket covering her slides off her shoulders to bunch in her lap instead.

Undyne freezes by the door, for a second looking as if she's been caught sneaking in like an unobedient teenager. Then she grins. "Yeah, i'm sorry. I hope you didn't stay up on purpose?"

Alphys shakes her head as her girlfriend tiptoes her way over, dropping down beside her with a satisfied sigh. Undyne looks at her and the smile falters.

"What's wrong?" Her voice sounds guilty, as if she already expects that whatever it is, it's her fault. Alphys doesn't like it when she sounds like that.

"It's nothing." She says quickly, fidgiting with the edges of the blanket and ignoring how her claws poke small holes in it. She swallows and it tastes bitter.

For a second, Undyne doesn't say anything. She lays a hand against the back of the ex-scientist's head and suddendly leans in real close.

Even after months of dating, Alphys can still feel her entire face heat up at the physical contact.

"Don't lie to me." Undyne whispers, and her voice is soft, fragile, nothing like what she sounds like normally. A sound only Alphys is ever allowed to hear. "Remember to talk to me."

She swallows, thinking of how hard it was, back when they just reached the surface, how much pain she caused them all. How much forgiveness they gifted her. How much love she found.

"I'm sorry." It almost doesn't come out. "It's just that..." She pauses and worries at the edges of the blanket some more, watching them fray beneath her fingers.

Undyne waits patiently for her to continue.

"Aren't you getting bored of me?"

At first, Undyne can only blink at her before bursting out in hearty laughter.

Alphys is pretty sure her face is brighter than a tomato by now.

Undyne crushes her so hard against her chest it's impeding her breathing a little bit. "Why would you even think that, you nerd?"

It's hard to talk through the crushing of her lungs and the doubt relenting in her head. "I don't know, you're always ou-out and doing exciting things. Things I-I'm not so good with. I thought that maybe you-"

Undyne laughs again and this time she sounds a lot surer of herself, something giddy and excited. "Oh, is that all."

Alphys isn't sure how to respond to that, so she doesn't. She's just able to crane her head up and gaze into her girlfriends golden eyes, the most beautiful eyes she has ever seen, feeling Undyne's heartbeat against her skin.

"You really don't need to worry about that, Al. You really don't." She says, one sharp fang barely peeking over the edge of her parted lips.

"How are you so sure?" Alphys hates the skepticism clouding her voice, the thin layer of self-hate that always coats everthing for her.

Undyne smiles against her skin, against her forehead. It's warm and nice and she wants it to never stop. "Because I love you, silly."

She exhales, shakily almost. "I love you too."

"I know, you dork." The other releases her and pushes both of them against the cushions instead, finding the discarded blanket and covering themselves with it. "But since we're both awake anyway, how about we watch another episode of that thing with the blades and the giant naked people."

"When you say it like that it sounds really stupid, you know." Alphys complains meekly, but she leans into her girlfriend and reaches for the remote anyway.

* * *

 **As always, thank you for the lovely comments.**


	23. Worry

**Hooray for more angst! This AU will never leave me alone...  
**

* * *

Flowey waited until all of them had left.

Undyne's loud yapping and Toriel's fussing. Alphys had been nervously drifting across the room and even the trashbag seemed more lackluster in his usual smirking.

The kid had come and stared at them wordlessly, eyes boring into Flowey. He had to wonder what they were thinking, but found he barely cared.

He barely cared about anything, really.

Except maybe the skeleton sprawled across the bed sheets, looking at him with that infuriating smile.

"You're here." Papyrus says, and there is no wonder in his voice, just dull acknowledgement.

"Of course." Flowey pushes against the blankets. He doesn't think Papyrus can get cold, but he rather be certain. "You need to stop doing this to yourself."

The skeleton turns his face away, but Flowey knows it's not in shame.

Pride?

"How long?" He asks instead, not sure if he should fear the answer.

Papyrus looks back at him, eyes somehow emptier than usual. "Almost a week…"

"168 hours?" Flowey doesn't pull away when papyrus touches him. "I'm impressed."

Papyrus laughs mirthlessly at his comment. "I'm not. It's nothing."

They sit in silence for a bit, both staring at a different corner of the room. When Papyrus tries to sit up he groans softly.

"Don't do that, Idiot." The flower pushes him back with a look of irritation. Then, after a beat: "Should I get you some food?"

The skeleton laughs again, sincerely this time, as if Flowey made a joke. "I'm not hungry."

He rolls over to lay on his side wearily, probably because every movement hurts, and looks up at his friend on the nightstand. "Do you think they know?"

"The trashbag knows." Flowey answers firmly, ignoring the way Papyrus is holding his vein, like he never wants to let go. "Alphys probably knows too, but she won't tell."

Papyrus closes his eyes and doesn't answer. Flowey wonders if he fell asleep as he sighs deeply. "Some family you have."

"They worry." Papyrus mumbles without opening his sockets, apparently not unconscious yet. "They just… have a weird way of showing it."

"Yeah?" Sarcasm is dripping from the flower's tone.

Papyrus smiles into the pillow. "Yes. A bit like you."

Flowey scoffs loudly, frowning hard. "Sure, keep telling yourself that."

There is no answer as his breathing evens out, slipping into blissful rest. Flowey keeps scowling as he pulls the blankets up around Papyrus, tugging at the edges.

He doesn't leave the nightstand.

* * *

 **As always, thank you for reading, and a special thanks to the commenters!  
**

 **My tumblr: sharada-n**


	24. Concern

**Another commission on tumblr. I really, really need the money so I'm extremely grateful!  
**

 **More ED!Papyrus, ties in with the previous chapter.**

* * *

With Flowey, he doesn't need to say it out loud. His best friend simply knows.

Doesn't matter if he aims for 12 hours, 24 hours, double that or far more. Flowey always knows and he's there.

Because somebody will have to catch Papyrus when he inevitably buckles.

And it can't be Sans, with his anxious fiddling and nervous words. Papyrus may have taken more after their father physically speaking, but it is in his brother's face that he recognizes the doctor.

The worry in that gaze so easily perceived as disappointment by his treacherous mind. And Papyrus doesn't want Sans to touch him, when he's really on the edge.

Doesn't want anyone to touch him, except maybe Flowey, if he allows it.

And if he doesn't, Flowey will anyway, complaining at him about not being allowed to tear himself apart like this.

Papyrus is of the opinion that it is his body and his burden and his choice. It's his guilt that needs to be silenced by the sweetness of starvation. The taste of true emptiness the only thing real enough to clear his mind.

He doesn't need to listen to anybody else. Save for maybe Flowey again, because he is his best friend and will give his verdict regardless if Papyrus wants it or not.

At least the honesty is refreshing.

* * *

"You do realize you're being an idiot, right?" Flowey tells him, time and time again. "He's dead, Papyrus. He's gone for good."

Papyrus is reorganizing the fridge, making sure there's enough food. Always making sure there's enough.

They should never run out.

"I know." He says, and he does, but it doesn't make any difference.

No logic in the world can battle a habit ingrained so deeply into his soul it has become a part of his world. Just a simple fact.

Grass is green and the earth revolves around the sun and food needs to be earned. That's just the way it is, the way it has always been.

"You're hands are shaking, you're going to hurt yourself." Flowey says, scowling at the way his fingers tremble, spilling dust from shallow cuts. "Stop it."

"No." Papyrus tries to hold still as he continues cutting into the carrots, slower, but he can't go too slow because that's not what good boys do.

" _Good boys do their chores without complaining. Can you be a good boy, P-2?"_

"Let me do it." Flowey says, and pries the knife from his grasp. There is dust all over the table now and Papyrus should probably clean this before Sans gets home.

"Is this enough yet?" Flowey asks hesitantly when he's done, and he isn't annoyed or tired like he sometimes is.

He's trying to help.

"It's enough." Papyrus confirms, laying his hands back on the table, now perfectly still.

He bandages up his fingers and they don't talk about it, because Papyrus is eating (however little it is) and as long as he's eating is, it's all fine.

* * *

And then he stops.

Sometimes it's because of something somebody said, a stray remark that doesn't mean anything. Or because he forgot to do the laundry. Because he overslept. Because he forgot something.

Because he just can't get things right.

" _Because you keep disappointing me. I'm so tired of it, P-1. So, so tired."_

And maybe secretly sometimes because it has been so long and he misses it.

So he stops, and Flowey knows. Sees it in the stiffness of his arms and the way he avoids the kitchen.

Sans notices too sometimes, but not often. He's so busy.

" _He's not useless, like you are. You should follow your brother's example."_

"Hey Papyrus, show me your stupid book again?" Flowey will ask, quietly. He is testing the grounds, the seriousness of the attempt.

If Papyrus dreamt of _him_ , of cold tiles that taste like acid when he licks them, it won't work. He'll sit on the couch and stare at the wall and Flowey will talk to him, follow him for days if need be, patiently waiting for the lack of nutrients to catch up to him.

And then Flowey will still be there, to make sure he never even hits the floor.

But on other days, good days, it works.

Papyrus shows him his book, diagrams and formulas and a few sketches, puzzles he designed but never got to use, horoscopes he solved or just the calculations he made to pass the time.

Flowey has seen them a million times before.

"This one has fire?" He asks, and points to one of his favorite. Papyrus smiles.

"Indeed, quite the fierce challenge for a passing human." He answers. "Sadly, it never finished construction."

"Golly, it looks very neat Papyrus." Flowey doesn't even need to put any effort into sounding sincere. He means every word. "You're so cool for making these. I bet you're way smarter than that trashbag."

Papyrus stills, exhales.

" _You'll never be nearly as smart as S-1, will you? How dull…"_

"Between this and your special attack, the human wouldn't have stood a chance." Flowey assures him.

" _Even in strength you are lacking. What use are you to me?"_

His eyes are vacant, far away, and Flowey sighs. "You're too good for them, Papyrus."

" _You'll never be good enough."_

"I'm glad you are my friend." Softly, nearly inaudible, as if Flowey didn't really want him to hear it.

A last resort, maybe.

"Thanks, Flowey. You're my best friend too." Papyrus says brightly, perhaps a bit too brightly, to compensate for the shadows in his mind.

"I know." Flowey rolls his eyes. "Can we eat something now, I'm clearly starving here."

"Right." Papyrus stands and when his legs nearly give out, Flowey steadies him. He walks to the fridge and pulls it open. "Right, we should eat something."

* * *

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


	25. Broken Bones

"Stop screaming! Shh, calm down!" Sans tells him, hisses at him, but it's hard to hear over the sound of his own wailing. "You have to keep quiet!"

His bother clamps one hand against his face, tries to silence him, and Papyrus instinctively bites down. Dust fills his mouth but Sans doesn't let go, holds him instead and rocks them both in some semblance of comfort.

"You need to be quiet, Paps." He says again, right next to him but it barely reaches him through the pain. "Otherwise the doctor will come back."

And that does the trick.

He goes rigid, the broken rib a mere afterthought compared to what the doctor will do if he finds them like this. Daddy doesn't like it when Papyrus cries, after all.

Sans sighs, slowly draws back his fingers and wipes them against his gown.

"I'm sorry." Papyrus mumbles, trying to swallow a sob threatening to come out. It still hurts a lot and now he has hurt Sans too. He's not being a very good brother at all.

"It's fine." Sans answers, and he's holding on to Papyrus still, afraid he will fall apart even more. "You uh… need to fix this." He says.

His brother is smart and strong and good at a lot of things, at nearly everything, but not at healing magic.

"I can't." He looks at the cracks in the bone, the piece of rib sticking inward towards his spine.

The doctor will be so mad when he sees this, will probably punish him, and the mere thought is enough to make him tremble fiercely.

"Papyrus, did you-" Sans starts, but Papyrus doesn't let him finish, because he's crying again, softer now but he still buries his face into his brother's chest to smother the noise.

He's tired and hungry and in pain and if he just wasn't so weak maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe he would still have enough energy left to use his magic properly. Maybe tripping over his own stupid feet wouldn't have left him with broken bones.

If he wasn't so weak, maybe forty-eight hours wouldn't be his limit.

"I'm sorry." He repeats. "I'm a bad child, I'm sorry, I'm a bad child, I'm sorry-" Over and over again, practice for when the doctor comes.

"Never mind, it's fine." Sans says quickly, trying to comfort him but unable to keep the fright out of his own voice.

He rocks them still, back and forth to the rhythm of his brother's apologies, waiting for their father to come and get them.

* * *

 **What do you mean: We're still doing this AU?**

 **OF COURSE WE ARE**

 **(send me prompts here or on tumblr: sharada-n)**


	26. This is what good brothers do

**I've been unable to write (due to personal reasons) for almost three weeks, so this was kind of a one-shot to get back into the swing of things. More ED!Papyrus for the soul.**

 **Warnings:** Eating disorders, implied child abuse, Bad dadster!

* * *

It always pained him to come home empty handed.

The tiny edge of disappointment in his brother's features quickly buried beneath filthy fingers cupped around his face, told Papyrus more than words ever could.

And sure, maybe things were supposed to be different.

Sans would bemoan it so at least, being the older sibling it should be him looking after them, he would mumble at the dark cavern ceiling, backs pressed together and knees curled to their chests as they lay in yet another back alley.

But Papyrus wouldn't trust Sans to look after them if they were living in a proper house, let alone their current conditions. So with a hasty excuse of looking after his brother's more fragile health, he would set out every morning, and Sans never got up to stop him.

He just sat their and stared, tugging at the rags that served them for clothes and nodded.

"I'll be back by nightfall." Papyrus tells him, bones aching from the night still, "And if I'm not-"

A look would silence him, their agreement doesn't need to be spoken out loud to ring true. But the reality hit Papyrus like a ton of bricks each time.

Sans would die without him.

Today he comes back with next to nothing, and it isn't much better, but it's something at least. It's sticky and it smells like it might have been digested once before but after nearly three days without, it looks just about passable.

Papyrus cradles it in two hands, feels its solid weight and is somewhat reassured by it. The image of Sans hunched over a puddle in their current abode, barely scooping the lingering water from rotting floor planks and seeming almost grateful for it, still burns in his mind as a beacon of guilt.

They used to have a water bottle, but Papyrus lost it somehow. Of course he did, he can hardly be surprised, the doctor did call him clumsy after all.

He pushes aside a board they have haphazardly pushed in front of the hole in the wall they use as an entrance with his shoulder, trying to keep from making too much noise. The shack might be abandoned, a half-torn down wooden structure at the edge of New Home proper, but they're afraid of alerting anybody else to their presence still.

Their father showed them what adults do to you and Papyrus is glad to be done with that. They have each other now.

His brother is just as he left him, and Papyrus is unsure whether this should annoy or please him. He makes his way over quietly, drops down to his knees, bare bone scratching against the wood as he crosses the few feet dividing them, but careful not to spook Sans.

Out of the two of them, his brother took their departure the hardest. He does little more than sit around looking listlessly, altering sticks to form complex patterns or occasionally messing around with one of their few possessions.

Papyrus sometimes wonders that perhaps Sans had a very different father than he did, but he supposes it matters little either way.

His brother turns to face him, eyes somehow more hallow than before, and it scares Papyrus in ways he rather not voice, makes his soul clench. But it still doesn't stop the tiny flicker of misplaced pride at his own endurance.

Three days, just three. Sans is weak.

"Here, I found you something." He says firmly, holding out his hands for Sans to see and there is so much eagerness in his brother's frame, something empty and desperate that doesn't fit him.

Only really fits Papyrus.

Sans is already half-way into accepting the offering, fingers closed around the soggy bun of a once perfect hotdog but something stops him, makes him hesitate.

Later, Papyrus will blame himself.

Maybe he was looking at the food a little too longingly. Maybe he failed at seeming completely content. Maybe he screwed up like he always did.

"What about you?" Sans says, and it hurts him in its fragility, the kind of innocence that can cut a heart out and makes him choke.

"I already had some." He lies smoothly, effortlessly, and maybe he does take after the doctor more than he cares to admit, learned a thing or two along the way.

"Still, you're going out every day and-" There's a flicker of guilt across that haggard face, and Papyrus thinks Sans really couldn't have picked a worse moment to grow a conscience. "You should have a piece too."

The refusal almost slips out too easily, he grinds his teeth together the way the doctor used to clamp down on any show of weakness and counts to three before responding. "I'm not hungry."

He's never hungry. One doesn't know true hunger until twenty days in, when even the dust of his own fingers started to taste like a delicacy. When he would consider forsaking his own brother for a glass of water.

"Then we can save you some for later." Sans insists, hands pushing against his, and Papyrus can just feel himself start shaking, an anger rising in his chest he wishes wasn't there.

Another piece his father left him he can't quite seem to shake.

"Just take it, Sans." He says louder, thrusting his hands forwards hard, the food feels like it will burn a hole right through him and the smell makes him nauseous.

He has done nothing to deserve this food, except dig it out of a dirty trashcan.

And when his brother pushes back against him it just slips, falls out of his hands and onto the floor and just like that, with a disgusting smear, disappears through a crack in the floorboards.

They stare at it in bewilderment, minds racing to catch up to what just happened and Sans looks somewhere between crying and giggling while Papyrus would be surprised if his brain would even have the energy to react.

But apparently it does, like a wave crashing into him a split second later. It feels as if he saw the lighting bolt moments before and now there is the deafening thunder catching up with its prelude, a sound that drowns out all else.

He's clawing at the wood, phalanges getting stuck in the crevices and tearing themselves to pieces, but it's useless, his small body far too weak to win from ancient nails, long rusted stuck.

But reality hasn't quite informed him of that, Papyrus knows. His mind screams at him, urges him to do something-anything-

And he can't have just lost the only precious thing in their possession? Can't have just fucked up that bad?

" _Now, now, subject 2. I must say, even for you, this is a new low. Shall you ever cease to disappoint me?"_

Sans makes a noise, something scared and tiny. He might have tried to touch his brother and Papyrus might have just growled at him, unable to focus on anything else but making this right.

Make everything right again.

His hands are a mess now, barely recognizable anymore, and by the time the boards give way beneath him, one bone is curled horrifically backwards in a display even the doctor would have found fascinating.

Papyrus can only smile.

He turns around and Sans seems to almost cower, tuck himself away even further into the corner, but his eyes land on the food, covered in both normal dust and that of his brother alike, and when Papyrus comes closer he doesn't move.

"Now." He says evenly, feeling nothing of the pain or hunger. Just an overwhelming relief of doing what is right. "Will you _please_ just eat it, Sans?"

And when Sans nods, shakily takes it from him and takes a bite, seems to collapse inward at the fact that three days of starvation has come to an end, Papyrus knows he's being a good brother.

And the doctor likes good children.

* * *

 **Tumblr:** sharada-n


	27. You are a Memory

_**I was calling,** _

_**For the last time.** _

_**We had been here before.** _

* * *

His hands don't shake anymore. They stopped eons ago, but the shadow lingers. And when he looks at them, they smile like this is the first time.

Every time.

The sun is going down, paints the sky in blood and fire and stray pieces of cotton candy but nothing can erase what they left behind them.

Or the echoing sobs of a lost child, once prince but now forgotten.

His future will be build on their dust, nothing will ever change that.

* * *

 _**They found pictures in the snow.**_

 **I could tell your eyes,**

 **Looked beneath the blue.**

* * *

They shift and they change, motionless yet somehow too fast to catch with the naked eye and they posses a power unphantomable. Something that makes them more dangerous to their world than their ancestors.

They confide with monsters.

His brother told him, pointed out the risks. He already knew.

Then they went together, but nothing changed.

Not even the snow got any colder.

* * *

 _**I woke underneath the tree,**_

 _ **For the first time.** _

* * *

They lay their promise by his feet, wrapped in twine and golden petals, untrustworthy like their eyes.

He can do nothing but accept their assurance.

They are not the one he wants any gifts from.

* * *

 _ **I was calling for the last time.**_

* * *

They mean nothing to him, he whispers harshly, and he knows who they truly are, bones caught in their hair and they laugh, like he is telling a joke.

Like he is a game to them.

They pull closer, try to taint him, and then promise again. Again and again and again.

* * *

 _ **For the first time,** _

_**we have been here before.** _

* * *

If it's not them, he doesn't want to believe.

"I'll never be them." They say, razor-sharp.

He agrees.

* * *

 _**You are a memory.** _


	28. Undyne Appreciation Week

**I participated in Undyne Appreciation Week over on tumblr, so here's the six little drabbles I wrote for each prompt.**

* * *

 **1\. Baby Undyne**

The Great Undyne lies in waiting for her prey. She has spend hours, no, days, NO, WEEKS preparing for this hunt.

Her hearing is sharp, listening for even the smallest noise made in the long hallway she has called her domain. with bated breath she wait… waits… waits…

At the right moment she jumps out, pouncing onto her soft quarry, digging her claws into him.

In reality, and to any outsider, it looks more like she just leapt from behind a decorated pillar to attack the king's leg.

Asgore laughs, it rumbles gently in his chest, and he lays a hand on her fiery red hair, patting it softly. "What are you doing now, little one?"

The small child raises her head to look at him, sharp canines glistening in the light when she smiles. "Practice."

The king lifts her up easily, small as she is, and his eyes are soft when he holds her. "For what?"

"For catching a human." Undyne declares, puffing her chest in a show of bravery and knightlyhood. She has no doubt in the world she will make it into the royal guard when she grows up.

Asgore has little doubt either.

His face looks sad though, weary, and he puts her back down onto the tiled floor with a little sigh. She darts of to her next well-planned ambush, and he finds himself wondering, not for the first time, how this young child has managed to so easily wiggle her way into his heart.

* * *

 **2\. Your favorite thing about Undyne**

Nobody taught Undyne how to play the piano. Nobody sat down next to her, showed her how to press the keys to get the clearest notes. Demonstrated how you can make the music flow to create a perfect melody.

Undyne learned those things all on her own.

Initially, her playing didn't sound like much (except maybe a Syren dying). She broke many teacups in her frustration, though never the piano. Even she wasn't that reckless.

She would get up in a huff and not so much as glance at the instrument for days.

But it always came back to her. An itch, something deep inside that makes her roll her eyes and take a seat in front of the keys again. longing for the kind of peace only a soothing melody can give her.

Something not granted in her regular life. Something that reminds her still of a time long ago filled with flower tea and play-pretend, and no stolen souls.

So over time, she becomes quite good at it. She writes herself a team song and it's pretty rad.

Or she'll play something oddly familiar, that sounds of grief and death, though she doesn't know why. Just knows it fills her with dread and makes her want to call Alphys, to make sure she's ok.

Papyrus asked about the piano once or twice, obviously. But Undyne shrugged it off and told him she never plays for anybody else.

Maybe she will someday, somewhere (on the surface under a blue sky?). But for now, it's her own little secret.

* * *

 **3\. Undyne's grin**

Sans doesn't think he has ever seen Undyne with anything but a smile.

It's sharp, like razors, and can change in a flash, much like her temperament. Anybody acquainted with her can tell the difference tough.

The congenial, easy smile she wears when giving orders, or talking to his brother, is nothing like the vicious grin she displays when training. Or the baring of teeth ready to kill when she is truly angry at you.

Even the more bashful, delighted kind whenever she is speaking with (or about) Alphys.

Undyne smiled when she was queen. Not when she was alone, perhaps, but Sans wouldn't know that. Wouldn't see. But she smiled at the people (her people now) and reassured them that all would be fine.

When Alphys is gone, she smiles. Tightly, fake. Something cold that won't ever reach her eyes.

And Sans is sure she smiles as she dies too. Smirk at the thought of death and spit in its face. He's never there to witness it, never was and never will. But he hears about it afterwards, Alphys breaking down in tearful sobs, clutching at nothing that is left, a puddle.

She smiled while wasting away, determined, and Sans isn't surprised.

* * *

 **4\. Undyne and Papyrus**

In hindsight, Papyrus probably knew it was a bad idea before they even started.

His bed is, in fact, not an actual race car. No matter how much he wishes it was, and no matter the enthusiasm Undyne displayed while fastening two metal rods to the bottom and hauling it up the hills outside Snowdin.

He should maybe voice this concern, but after all, he's not supposed to be the sensible one, is he? Not to mention Undyne looks like she's having so much fun, Papyrus wouldn't want to ruin it.

So he doesn't say anything as she takes her seat at the front of the 'vehicle', loudly prompting him to "get his ass in there and hold on to his knickers".

He doesn't say anything as they speed down the hill, the scenery becoming a white and gray blur as they careen down the hill, almost hitting a frightened Gyftrot that just manages to jump out of the way of their projectile.

He doesn't even say anything when their reckless journey is oh so rudely interrupted by the very much solid obstacle that is a tree, as he predicted.

And afterwards, as they brush the snow of their clothes and Undyne is yelling in his ear how freaking awesome that was, already picking up the slightly damaged but still serviceable impromptu sled they build, Papyrus still doesn't say anything.

Just agrees that it was indeed awesome as they make their way back up the hill for another round.

* * *

 **5\. Angst**

Being queen isn't all it is made out to be.

Sure, there's the silken bed sheets, the beautiful gardens, the royal hallways which allow just the perfect acoustic for your piano.

But nobody ever mentions the other things.

The dying. Watching helplessly as all those you love, those you were supposed to protect, fall pray to a despair deeper than grief. The void left by a beloved king, who did everything for his people, for you. A void you will never be able to fill, no matter how hard you try.

Or the dust that fouls your city, with nobody left that has the energy to sweep it up. Monsters falling where they may.

Nobody mentions how the acoustics won't mean a thing if you can't bring yourself to even play, because all that will come out sounds broken, torn. You forgot what it was like to feel joy anymore.

"We found her." They say, with bated breath, as if they know that this will shatter you completely. This will be the thing to make it come undone.

But you already knew, could feel it in your very soul. "Did she-" You start, but you don't know how to finish.

Did she end it herself? Did she leave a note? Did she think of me?

…. Did she suffer?

No answer could possible grant you solace anymore.

"Ok." You say, though clearly it isn't. "Ok…"

And you turn around to attend to your queenly duties, a bit more hallow than before.

* * *

 **6\. Theme of your choice  
**

Surface life is different from Underground. Things move faster, brighter, louder. Undyne absolutely loves it, she won't lie. Her heart races every time she steps foot outside, all the things to see and do just there at her fingertips.

Sometimes she just wants to go- leave- she doesn't know where, the itching in her feet driving her on. See everything there is to see and more.

She doesn't though. At the end of the day she goes home.

Alphys is usually there before her, curled up on the couch with a book or the tv on. Hiding away from that same world Undyne finds so endlessly fascinating.

She joins her, wraps herself around her and shields Alphys from all those things. Holds her so tightly her girlfriend HAS to know she will never let go.

Sometimes, Undyne wants to leave. But even more, she knows why she has to stay.

* * *

 **Hope u enjoyed these little drabbles ^_^ Thanks for the comments guys**


	29. Broken

**And here we have YET AGAIN more ED!Papyrus  
**

 **I requested some whumpy prompts on tumblr and this is what happened.**

 **Warnings: Child Abuse, Eating Disorders, Implied Suicidal Thoughts (the usual for this AU)**

* * *

The doctor never worries for them. He is the one that breaks them, into tiny tiny pieces, then pushes them into a corner and waits for them to be whole again.

So the breaking can start all over.

It's been like that for as long as they can remember, as long as they existed, and they know this is the purpose of their creation, their only reason to be.

But then there's the time Papyrus doesn't heal.

Sans sits in their 'room', huddles closer to his brother as if somehow that will fix him. Pushes against broken bones as if this alone will be enough to set them. Make them mend under his touch.

His magic never was any good at that, defensive at best, and he can't kill the doctor or heal his brother or anything-

He can't do anything.

It's hours before their father even peeks into their cell again, aimlessly, preoccupied, and Sans tells him, spits it in his face, because he knows it's the doctor's fault.

Gaster stops for the tiniest of second, distracted, then dismisses them with a hand gesture. "Test your patience, subject-1. You're better than this."

Sans isn't sure what that's supposed to mean, except perhaps another reminder that he shouldn't cling so much to his brother, as the doc often tells him.

"He's so much stronger than you, yet so much weaker." He had marveled one time, long ago. "You'll only drag each other down."

Hours pass and Papyrus doesn't wake up and Sans is practically climbing up the walls with worry.

"Please, please, please-" He repeats over and over and it doesn't change anything. It doesn't make it right.

The doctor comes by again, throws one look at the two of them before sighing and finally taking action.

* * *

Papyrus feels fuzzy, warm. He hasn't felt like this so long, maybe never, but it's nice.

Better than the emptiness and the cold and the feeling of decaying.

"You're really stupid, you know." A voice says, and he still doesn't want to open his eyes. He doesn't want to know what the doctor thinks, or what he did this time.

He just wants to sleep.

One hand pushes down onto broken bones, grinds them into each other and Papyrus gasps as pain rushes up his leg, makes his vision dark for a second.

His sockets fly open and his father is there, looking down at him with a little smirk and dissapointed eyes and he groans, because it hurts and he feels weird.

'don't-eat-for-12-days' kind of weird.

"You didn't even have enough magic left to restore this… mess." The doctor says absently, gesturing at whatever remains of his legs and Papyrus knew.

Knew when he blacked out he might not be able to wake up gain.

Not that that worried him very much.

"I didn't care." He says, because he didn't, and Gaster told him that if he lied he'd get beat even worse and he feels like death as is-

The doctor looks surprised for a tiny second, an instant of wide eyes and tight set mouth, then he scowls and pushes down harder.

Papyrus yelps, tries to pull away but can't.

"I don't remember giving you permission to act so carelessly with your life." His father hisses, then lets up and Papyrus tries so hard not to pass out.

He stands, smiles again but it's different now. So much colder.

"Make sure you don't die." He says, doctor's orders. "Or I'll make sure your brother will soon be joining you."

They never talk of it again after.

* * *

 **Comments make me happy... just saying ;)**


	30. Before everything

**Got a request for some Asgore and Toriel in the war angst, and couldn't let up the chance.  
**

 **Also: mild Asgoriel, just so you know.**

* * *

He comes to her afterwards, when silence has returned but the air smells of blood and dust and their foes are waiting, somewhere out of sight. Planning their next move.

It's what he should be doing as well, Asgore knows. But right now there's only death on his mind and pain in his bones, and they're much too young for this.

Toriel waits for him, red stains that he wishes he could wipe away, but he knows will soak in, taint her. Knows that she won't be the same as before this happened.

Neither will he.

So they sit, like in the beginning, when they would talk all night and dream of their future. Dream of a castle full of flowers and children and the smell of freshly baked pies.

A dream that not seems possible anymore.

"We won't survive this." She says, voice hollow. Asgore feels it in his heart, feels her slipping away.

She has too much love for war, ironically.

"We will." He says, voice hardened in resolve, and when he grabs her hand he realizes. He never relished the thought of killing but he has done it for her and he will do it again, over and over. "We'll live."

"Not us." Toriel says, but she doesn't pull away and it's a small mercy on his brittle soul. " _We_ … won't survive this."

Her eyes shift over the battlefield and it's a mess of bodies and dust, definitely more dust, and Asgore knows it is not the two of them she is talking about.

It is all of them and what they stand for. Ridiculously outnumbered and overpowered and dwindling before him.

Soon he'll be a king without people, a realmless ruler.

And none of this shall have been worth it.

"I know." He says, but he doesn't know what to do about it.

Or he does, but it would be condemning all monsterkind to a miserable existence, and what sort of king would he be then?

"I know you'll do what's right." Toriel tells him, leans in close and she's so much warmer than he can ever be. So much more than what he deserves.

He cherishes that, cherishes her, but wonders if in time she will be saying the same thing.


	31. Something else entirily

**Prompt:** Mettaton with "I just waist resources and cause problems. It'd be better if I died."

 **This turned out less Angsty than I intended. Also, I took a leaf out of Iop's book and wrote a Reset-Aware Papyrus AND Sans who share their troubles for a change...**

* * *

Things are excessively fucked.

They often are, it's par for the course for them, but this time Papyrus isn't even around for him to complain with.

He's dead.

And while Sans is sure they'll be able to laugh about it afterwards, that doesn't really help the current situation.

Besides, Mettaton is king and that's always a ride.

Sans enters the throne room, the flowers are brown and wilting. (nobody takes care of them quite like his brother does) Mettaton lounges on the throne like it's a Persian lounge, looking as aloof as his position bestows him.

Sans knows he's breaking.

"You didn't find her either, huh?" The new king asks, but he doesn't need an answer. They both know where Alphys is.

"I can't do this without her." Mettaton bemoans, and he sounds almost human but not quite. "I need- I just can't, ok?"

It sucks, because Sans doesn't even particularly like this guy. "You're already doing it, kind of." He says lamely while he tries not to think of rampaged streets and looted storefronts.

Mettaton turns and stares at him, ever the character judge, sighing dramatically.

"I just waist resources and cause problems. It'd be better if I died."

Sans doesn't know if he's being serious or not, but better safe than sorry. "Don't say that. my brother _is_ dead, you know?"

Not that he will be for long, but that's besides the point.

Mettaton sighs again, less dramatic and more desperate this time and Sans feels compelled to say something despite himself. Despite hating this outcome and wanting nothing else but to go home and bury his head beneath the sheets until the next reset hits.

He misses Papyrus so much.

"You can't, ok? They need you." He's not good at being encouraging but his brother would be proud of him just for trying, and it carries him forward with fervor he doesn't actually feel. "There's nobody else who can do this. You're kind of literally all they have left..."

God that was lame.

But Mettaton looks at him and he smiles just a little bit, in such a way Sans can really see the hurt there. God, he fucking hates it.

"You're right." He says, slowly, then nods with something like assurance. "Of course you are."

He wipes at his eyes, (do robots even cry?) then stands up, back straight, and Sans does admit Mettaton has a certain regal air to him. Maybe if things had been different-

"Thanks, sweetie." The robot says, almost instantly back to his fabulous persona and he pats Sans on the head in passing. "It's time to rule!"

Sans doesn't say anything, waiting for his king to leave the room before visibly slouching.

God he hates this fucking timeline.

* * *

 **Save Sans 2k17**

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


	32. Don't try to

**And we're back to Papyrus angst. I'm pretty transparent...**

 **Prompt:** "Do you mind not interrupting me when I'm trying to commit suicide?"

 **Warnings:** Suicide mentions, Character Death

* * *

There's a funny thing about going in circles day after day. Something about always ending up on the exact same spot no matter how many times you go round and there's nothing new about it, nothing interesting.

Except this.

"Do you mind not interrupting me when I'm trying to commit suicide?" Papyrus asks, and it's a silly thing because how could Flowey not.

Is there ever a conceivable universe where he wouldn't be right here, right now? He doesn't think so.

It's only Papyrus who ever changes, and as novel as that is it's also very tiring and sometimes Flowey wishes he could stop caring.

"What are you doing, you idiot." He says instead, not a question because he is long-suffering when it comes to his best friend, and as unexpected as this is, it's nothing new. Not truly. "You know it wouldn't matter."

"Obviously." Papyrus huffs, sags his shoulders and the blade seems so harsh in the pale white snow. It's an interesting choice, that. "I'm just kind of... done with this one."

Flowey is done with this timeline too but you don't see him going all dramatic. He doesn't say so though.

"Why here then?" He asks, because it's not the usual place for Papyrus to die, it's somewhere secluded and quiet and alone, much more fitting. Perfect.

"I don't want Sans to-" And he stops, almost gags on the words and Flowey hates it.

Hates how even after all this, after everything, it's still always Sans that matters. It's always Sans that comes first.

Sans and whatever Papyrus will do not to hurt his brother. No matter how much he has been hurt in turn.

It isn't fair.

"Please don't stop me." It's a hushed demand, something fragile and there is no 'try to' in there. Papyrus knows Flowey could persuade him in a heartbeat.

They both know.

It aches something real, something deeper than having a soul and just like Papyrus can't deny Sans anything, Flowey can't deny Papyrus.

He's weak.

"Fine then." He says, coldly. "See you on the other side."

Papyrus sags more, but his grip tightens and he smiles. Always smiling. "Thanks."

Flowey doesn't stay to watch.

* * *

 **I do love reviews *hint hint***


	33. Fools

**Moar Angst! I missed writing Undyne-Papyrus friendship so I did that...  
**

 **Prompt:** "Does it scare you? Knowing how ready I am to die?"

* * *

He didn't mean for her to find out this way.

He really didn't, but sometimes it just happens, something slips or breaks or cracks and now it's there, out in the open, between them.

Papyrus doesn't think of himself as transparent but today he guesses he is.

Or maybe he's just too tired to hide it any longer.

But at least it's just Undyne, she'll forget. It will get vague and foggy like all the rest, and maybe she'll look at him next time, feel something sad and tight curling in her chest, but she'll be unable to grasp it and he'll go on pretending like everything is fine.

Thank Asgore for small mercies.

"Does it scare you? Knowing how ready I am to die?" He asks. It should scare him more too.

It would scare any sane person, probably.

"Not really." She answers, hugging her arms around herself in a way that makes his bones feel like lead. Like something heavy that will crush him. And her eyes are not meeting his anymore.

He doesn't want to believe her.

"No." He says, as if simply uttering that word will make things right again. "No, you don't- No." He stammers, struggles through the words but it's too late because there are tears on her cheeks, something that should never be.

Undyne should never cry. Not about this.

Maybe he's just as stupid as they think after all. "How long have yo-?"

"All the fucking time, Papyrus. From the very start." She unclenches her fists and there's dust clinging to her nails, small wounds on the inside of her palms and it hurts almost as much to look at them as if she cut him herself.

Funny, Papyrus always assumed he was the only self-destructive asshole in their relationship.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He wants to ask her, but it'd be silly. Because obviously her response would be the same as his.

Great minds think alike, but fools rarely differ, after all.

"This is good." He says, even when it feels like the worst fucking thing in the world. "It's good, isn't it?"

"I don't know." Undyne sighs and they're both so broken. Splintered beyond repair. They can't make a difference. "I just… don't know anymore."

Papyrus doesn't know either

The world shifts, reality tears and comes back together, they go back and they know.

* * *

 **Two updates in one day? U lucky bastards!  
**


	34. Why didn't he

**Guess who made this about the soulless pacifist route for no reason it's me**

* * *

"I was going to kill myself last night." Papyrus says, calmly, as if he's just announcing he is about to pop out to the store real quick.

Frisk looks up at him. Their hands are steady, eerily steady these days.

'Why didn't you?' They want to know.

Papyrus wishes he could answer. But it's not nearly as simple as just doing something, not doing something, wishing he had done something-

It's never that simple, obviously.

"Maybe because it doesn't matter anymore." He says, and they look at him with gleaming eyes that are red if the light hits them just right. Eyes that are cold and distant at times.

Papyrus wishes he had even the slightest idea of what goes on in their mind anymore.

'Why doesn't it matter?' They continue. They don't need to know, they just want to hear him say it out loud.

"Because there's no more do-overs. You got what you want." He spits out. There's venom in his voice, something angry he doesn't recognize and regrets instantly.

Frisk picks at the petals of a flower, tears it apart and tosses it to the ground.

'I didn't _want_ to hurt anyone.' They sign eventually.

"I know." Papyrus tells them. "But you did."

' _I_ never intended to hurt anyone.' They reiterate, and he knows it's not Frisk this time. Not entirely. 'Like this-' They gesture at the world around them.

"It doesn't matter what we want, does it?" Papyrus asks. Frisk shakes their head. It doesn't.

'Do you think we can fix this?' Their head is turned down, shoulders heaving and Papyrus isn't sure who they are anymore.

"I don't think so."

'I feared as much.'

The air is cold and their breath comes out in white puffs, so Papyrus gives them his scarf.

"I wish Flowey was here." He says and they shake harder, choking on nothing. But their hands are stable still.

"I wish Asriel was here too."

At least they can agree on that much.

* * *

 **tumblr: sharada-n**


	35. Dad

**Prompt:** **Gaster is genuinely good. Then, Papyrus wakes up.  
**

* * *

They didn't have a garden.

That's the funny thing, the thing that really should have tipped him off. Of course they didn't have one.

They had tile walls and tile floors and tile ceilings. And grates in the side of the room and a door with a little slot in it for food. And no names.

But now they have a garden. One with stones and small heaps of moss that are perfect for Papyrus to drive his little race cars over. He pushes them up the makeshift hills, then watches them roll down the other side because of momentum, a simple thing his dad taught him.

His dad is very smart. he's a scientist.

His brother is very smart too. Papyrus looks up and Sans is right there. He's sitting on the ground and is helping him push the cars and he's smiling.

And none of his bones are broken.

They play with the toys for what seems like hours, until the colors blur together and Papyrus feels giddy inside.

Then their dad calls for them. He's inside the house, so they have to get up and clean up their toys because they're good kids.

Dad is very proud of them for being so good.

He pats Sans on the head and hugs Papyrus real tight and he never ever hurts them.

He made them food, oatmeal with dinosaur eggs, Papyrus's favorite and if they eat it all they're allowed seconds. Or even thirds.

Because there's more than enough.

Papyrus cleans the dishes because he likes to help and he likes the way Dad smiles at him and asks him if he wants a goodnight story. Something about a bunny perhaps.

Then he wakes up. It's just tiles again. And numbers for names. And lots of broken bones.

And no Dad. Just their father.


	36. This Part

**Prompt:** **Sans Angst!  
**

* * *

You hate this part.

There's something about it, raw and painful, like you're ripping off pieces of your skin just to see what lays beneath it.

And they love you. And they adore you. And they herald you like the hero you aren't while you tear and tear and tear it off.

You're kind of surprised when you see him, though you're not sure why you would be. "I thought you were gone."

"Don't get me wrong." He says. "I'm only here because I'm too much of a coward to kill myself."

It's kind of the same for you so you understand.

"Just a little bit." You say, trying to convince yourself more than anything. You need this to be true, it has to. You don't want to consider the alternative. "It will be over soon."

Just hold on a little more.


	37. Panic Attack

**Papyrus having a Panic Attack for the whump prompts on tumblr**

* * *

He can't really describe how it feels. it's not so much words, thoughts, anything sensible like that.

It just happens.

 _He doesn't want to be here_

And there's this unrelenting dread, not very different from the usual, but it's sharper somehow. More real.

When it crawls up his spine, pokes at his bones like pinpricks, Papyrus wants more than anything to run.

He can't feel his legs, nor his arms or even his skull really. Or he does, but it's heavy, weighted down by something invisible, but debilitating as much as actual weight could ever hope to be.

It doesn't feel like his own head properly contains him anymore.

 _And he doesn't want to be here_

They gaze at him carefully, empty, but they hesitate. Maybe they noticed his stare is unseeing, going straight through them. Vision swaying like the motions he's not sure he's making, but he must be right?

It's all much too blurry to tell.

And he doesn't notice he's on his knees until the snow is seeping through his gloves, his bones, and even then he doesn't feel it as much as observe it happening as if to somebody else.

Just a scene unfolding on the pages of your favorite storybook, and goody, he sure wonders what will happen next?

 _But he really doesn't want to be here_

They look unsure, their balance thrown by something that doesn't fit the usual narrative and Papyrus wants to laugh at the idea but he can't. He can't make a sound, throat refusing to work even in the slightest.

Besides maybe to scream.

The sound of something distant is making his head ache, makes him want to die, die, die, please, just go ahead already, but he doesn't know how or when anymore, so he squeezes his sockets shut instead.

 _Only knows he doesn't want to be here_

And it's worse than dying. It hurts a lot more. It constricts around his soul and everything is ending, the entire world is ending, but he knows it isn't really, but it feels that way still-

 _He just really, really doesn't want to fucking be here_

His reaction has confused them. Their face is set in something grim, maybe disappointed.

They pass him by.

Papyrus doesn't care anymore. He doesn't want to be here.


	38. Fractures

**Papyrus suffering broken bones for the whump prompts on tumblr**

* * *

The instant his body makes contact, he knows something is broken.

It's not the pain that tips him of, though that's certainly an issue too. It's not the feeling of his legs bending in a way they're really not supposed to either.

It's the sound.

A dull crack the bone makes as it snaps, like a twig you step on, too brittle to take your weight.

The second Papyrus hearts it, he knows something is broken for sure.

His thoughts don't come rushing back until way afterwards, a realization that dawns slowly and by the time it does he's already pushing himself onto his feet, ignoring the sharp pain pulsing through his femurs.

Then his knees buckle, mangled limbs unable to hold his body uptight anymore and Papyrus looks at them with mild indignation as they fail him.

He can't walk like this.

He scoots onto his pelvis carefully, dragging the now useless legs behind him and when he grabs his kneecap and pulls, he has to grind his teeth to keep from screaming.

It takes an agonizing minute, but he forces it back into place with an audible pop.

With closed eye sockets he waits for the pain to subside so he can start on the other leg and considers how he should probably have stayed in bed today.

* * *

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


	39. Sleep Deprivation

**Papyrus with sleep deprivation for the whump prompts on tumblr. This somehow became comedic, don't ask me why  
**

* * *

There's a certain point in the course of sleep deprivation where everything, anything, become incredibly hilarious.

Papyrus seems to have reached that point.

Or perhaps he's just losing his mind, that's also a distinct possibility.

"Sea mammals are pretty dumb, aren't they?" He says, trying to stop giggling, and Sans stares at him over a cup of what is probably not coffee, but ketchup.

Papyrus is too tired to find out, nor properly scold him anyway.

He just stares right back and Sans sighs. There's little point in ignoring his brother when he gets like this, and it's what? The sixth morning they've been sitting at breakfast like this and by now he is seriously considering calling Undyne over and forcefully tying Papyrus to his bed.

Even that wouldn't actually make him sleep though.

He decides to take the bait. "Why is that, bro?"

"Because. If you. Can only breath air." Papyrus iterates, hand gestures accompanying every word. "Then don't go live in the sea. That's dumb."

"It is." Sans agrees, taking a careful sip and Papyrus frowns, unsatisfied.

"Evolutionary speaking, it's as obsolete as it is backwards, Sans. It makes zero sense. Actually, it makes a negative amount of sense. Aleph zero amount of sense, brother."

"I'm sure it made sense to them." Sans tries and Papyrus throws him a look that is positively scandalized.

"You can not reasonably expect a dolphin to understand what is best for them, Sans." He says with renewed vigor. "encephalization quotient aside, they are very dumb."

"Right."

He takes another sip while Papyrus nods, deep in thought about the disappointing foresight of marine mammals.

"Not as dumb as birds though. They had everything going for them. They were dinosaurs. And now. Birds." Papyrus adds, an afterthought.

"Birds are dumb." Sans repeats.

They stare at each other some more, baffled at his recent discovery, before Papyrus promptly passes out on their kitchen table.

* * *

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


	40. Tucked in

**Papyrus and Flowey with 'tucking in' for the whump prompts on tumblr... some platonic nyechtar for the soul**

* * *

His mind is buzzing a bit, like an angry beehive has taken residence on the inside of his skull, and as concerning as that metaphor makes it sound, Papyrus is quite comfortable.

Flowey is on the nightstand besides his bed, because where else would he be, and when Papyrus looks at him, his friend frowns and shakes his head.

"Go back to sleep." He says, tugging the blanket up towards Papyrus' face a bit.

"I will." Papyrus answers, but doesn't.

There's a lot of silly things in life. Things more puzzling to him than the word search games in the papers.

This isn't one of them.

Somehow this right here, him lying in the bed feeling like crap and Flowey next to him looking more than a little annoyed yet perfectly content to be there, makes perfect sense.

"Will you read me a story?" He asks and Flowey frowns harder still.

"Absolutely not."

And Papyrus laughs, not at how silly it is but at how much sense it makes.

He rolls over, tries to relax and sink deeper into the warmness and softness enveloping him from all sides. Flowey pulls at the covers again, to make sure they don't slip off and Papyrus grins into his pillow.

Being sick has its merits.

* * *

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


	41. A good day to be the King

**Yet another prompt from tumblr. Some King!Papyrus and ED!Papyrus all rolled into one. Oh, and the rare 'Sans and Papyrus both remember resets and actually talk about it'.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"What a wonderful day to be the king."

"Is it?" Sans asks, grinning like a madman, and Papyrus thinks he might be just that. A teeny tiny bit losing it.

Not that Papyrus can blame him. It's been what, weeks now, and still no reset. Weren't it for the regal public image he has to maintain, he would be crawling up the walls with impatience himself.

"Any day now." He tells Sans each evening, in a soft voice that barely strains around the edges, not because he believes himself, but because he's too tired not to. "Any day."

"Any day." His brother will echo back, like an empty hallway and Papyrus knows Sans is the epitome of that. Emptiness.

And it worries him.

But not today. Today they are having a feast. Today it has been ten days since anybody has last given up. Today, it _is_ a good day to be the king.

For just this occasion Papyrus will tolerate wearing the crown, and the cape that still feels large enough to drown in despite his and Sans' best efforts. It looks ridiculous but it is tradition and he knows better than to break with something so comforting to his people.

Never mind the fact that he feels like a little kid playing dress-up in his parents' clothing. Trying to take on a role ultimately impossible for him. Some shoes are simply too big to fill.

But that doesn't mean Papyrus can't try.

And try he does. He smiles at the right moments and shakes hands with the right monsters and when they compliment his flower garden he swells with delight.

Papyrus will never be as empty as Sans is. He is full of happiness and expectations. Full of sadness and fear. Full of Hope.

Isn't that the problem, then?

He politely refuses any offerings of food. There's plenty for everyone, he made sure of that, but it nags at him all the same. Something that tugs at his soul uncomfortably and he can't help but wonder what the doctor would say, seeing him sit the throne.

Maybe a tiny part of Papyrus still wants to think he would be proud. But then again, his father was never the kind for such fancies.

He was the kind to crave results. Hard empiric evidence or bitter failure. Mostly the later, where Papyrus was concerned. Disappointment was his middle name.

One could literally mistake it to be, given how often the Doctor referred to him as such

Then again, maybe that's one trait Papyrus can't deny to have inherited. Sans might be satisfied with effort, but there's something too exhilarating about forcing your body to do the things it isn't designed to.

Or maybe it was, Papyrus doesn't know. His father isn't around to ask.

All he knows is that he hasn't eaten since becoming king. At first because he felt too sick to even think about food, then because touching the King's stuff made him feel off. Then because of the challenge, of course.

He hasn't slept much either. It's not like he could ever get himself to sleep in the bed at the castle anyway, so Papyrus had to get by on the few hours of sleep he caught on the couch, whenever Sans wasn't around.

And results aren't in short supply. He's falling apart. Quite literally that is.

The Doctor would be pleased

"Any day." He tells Sans, because if not he will break before they're through. There will be only tiny pieces left. "Just not today. Today it is good to be the king."

* * *

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


	42. The other view

**I found this tiny snippet from the ED!Papyrus AU I forgot to post on here, so have at it...  
**

* * *

Sans hates that he knows.

He wishes he didn't, it would be easier if he didn't, but he does and it sucks.

He's a good actor though, and it's so simple just to turn a blind eye to whatever is happening with his brother, to let himself be consumed in self-pity and depression and a deep, real loathing for everything he has become.

And ignore the way their fridge seems to overflow with food these days. Nothing gets eaten in their house.

Sans goes to Grillby's and Papyrus does his _thing_ so he doesn't even have to see how bad it has gotten.

Or be reminded of cold long-gone days of lying on a dust covered floor craving anything and nothing and waiting for Papyrus to come back and feed him, not questioning why his brother takes nothing for himself.

He hadn't asked back then except that one time and somehow Sans felt that meant he didn't have the right to ask now. He wasn't entitled to have an opinion on Papyrus' eating habits, no matter how he bad they were.

He was fortunate enough to be there, and try to seem encouraging whenever Papyrus did eat, rub his back when he's puking his proverbial guts out above the toilet again.

Without saying a word through it all.

* * *

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


	43. Botched genocide run

**Guess who accidentally made a new AU whoopsie-  
**

* * *

He's never been here. He never saw this before.

And in the current moment Papyrus wishes he never had.

Of course he knew, factually speaking, that Undyne dies. But there's such a vast difference, an insurmountable gap, between knowing something and witnessing it that it feels like the very soul inside him has pulled taunt. Tighter and harder and straining until it snapped.

There's a special kind of agony in seeing one of your dear friends literally waste away in front of your eyes.

"I feel like liquid."

His eyes snap open, closed involuntarily to the horrific sight in front of him and it's with a kind of stone-cold realization that Papyrus notices that she too isn't gone.

Not yet.

"I'm sorry." He says, as if any of it is his fault. As if everything is his fault. But he knows she can't hear him anymore.

And just like that she is over with.

He can barely see the human trail of in the distance, faintly aware that's the difference. They didn't kill Undyne properly as they didn't kill him properly.

They rushed by before delivering the final blow to her, though the damage was far from repairable already. They didn't completely follow through on their attack back in Snowdin, leaving him with just the sliver of HP he needed to not expire.

Something is wrong.

Sans is gone. He is impatient, as always, and thinks he has the advantage when he doesn't, as so often.

Papyrus doesn't normally worry about his brother, not in that regard at least.

But this timeline is different and all the bets are off.

He just hopes he can be there in time to change something.

* * *

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


	44. Silent Treatment

"I can't believe you're being this petty." Sans groans. "You're _still_ giving me the silent treatment?"

Papyrus doesn't say anything. Obviously, as that would defeat the purpose.

His brother pokes at him but even that he ignores, leaning out of his reach. Sans laughs.

"How long are you going to keep this up?"

A glance is all the answer he gets, but it says enough.

'As long as I have to.'

"I'm not telling you." Sans says, just like earlier but already the certainty is draining out of it.

He's weak.

"I'm really not…" He repeats feebly.

Papyrus doesn't look at him. He's stirring the pot of pasta sauce he's occupied with as if it's the most interesting thing in the world and by now his silence is making Sans kind of nervous.

He has known Papyrus to be quiet on rare occasions, but he doesn't think he has ever not heard his brother say a single word for this long.

"Why do you even want to know? Pap, why would you care? It really doesn't matter?"

No answer. He paces along the kitchen floor in curt steps, throwing up his arms in defense.

"You're making a way bigger deal out of this than it has to be, bro."

Papyrus looks back at him for a stray second, jaw set tight, then resumes his stirring. Sans buries his head into his hands.

"Ok fine. Whatever. You're right, Santa doesn't exist. He never did. I just-"

His brother turns around before he can finish. "I know." He says.

Sans blinks twice. "You know?"

"Of course I know Sans, I'm a freaking adult. Did you really think I still believed a magical man would come through our chimney just to lay gifts under our poorly-decorated tree in exchange for some stale cookies and milk?"

He takes the pot of the stove and sets it on the table, walking by Sans in the process and briefly making eye contact.

"Did you think I'm an idiot or something?" He adds.

It takes a moment for his speech returns to him and when it does Sans can barely string the words together. "Then why did you ask?"

"Because I wanted to see if you would tell me." Papyrus answers simply.

* * *

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


	45. Play Pretend

**AJ requested some platonic nyehctar with the prompt "Just pretend to be my date, okay?" so how could I resist...**

* * *

"Just pretend to be my date, okay?"

The words slip out before he knows it and he can feel the vines tighten around his wrist, nearly to the point of being painful.

"What?" Flowey hisses, eyes wide for a second and Papyrus throws him a glance, one that says 'please for the love of god don't make a bigger deal out of this than it has to be.'

Then again, he did just ask his best friend to pretend to be more-than-his-best-friend in public, so maybe that _is_ a big deal.

Papyrus doesn't know, there wasn't anything in the handbook about this, and he skimmed every page at least 24 times.

"Please, jus-"

"Fine." Flowey says before he can even finish his sentence. His gaze skims the monsters gathered in Toriel's backyard through narrowed lids. "But why? Is your ex here or something?"

"Ha ha, very funny." Papyrus deadpans back at him, leaning closer across the tiny table they're sharing, fingers curling securely around the flowerpot Flowey has reluctantly taken as a home. "The great Papyrus would never resort to something as petty as that."

"I'm sure you wouldn't." His friend answers slyly, sarcasm evident in the tone of his voice and it makes the skeleton smile despite himself.

Flowey knows him better than anyone.

Papyrus has scooted over almost completely, barely an inch between them now and it makes Flowey incredibly self-conscious all of the sudden. An outsider looking at them, at the way Papyrus has practically heaved the flowerpot into his lap or the way Flowey's vines curl around both of the skeleton's hands now, surely might think they aren't merely best friends.

He suddenly has to try hard not to start giggling.

"So who are we fooling?" He whispers, close enough to feel Papyrus' heat, the radiance of a soul he lacks. It's kind of nice.

"Sans."

Flowey pulls back then, unable to put much distance between them in their current position but enough so he can show Papyrus just how annoyed he is at this answer.

"Trashbag Sans?"

Papyrus rolls his eyes at the nickname. "My brother Sans, yes."

They stare at each other for one fragile moment and it looks very much like Papyrus is the one trying to suppress his laughter this time around.

"Why?" Flowey repeats, rolling his eyes and his best friend pulls him closer still, actually putting the flowerpot onto his lap for real this time.

"Because it will vex him."

He opens his mouth to reply, maybe some scathing remark to show how low they've fallen if they're resorting to old-school deception just to annoy the trashbag. Then he closes it again.

"Fair enough." He leans back in, the gesture comes as close to sitting with his arm around his friend's shoulder as he can manage. "But what was that about not being petty?"

* * *

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


	46. Glorious

**Just a little drabble for a friend's birthday on tumblr...**

* * *

Being king can be glorious.

It's not something that often crosses his mind. Papyrus isn't the kind of monster to dwell on the negatives of life, but it's also hard to stay positive when all around you there's death and despair.

When everybody is in mourning, not only for the people they have lost, but the future as well. Something that had seemed so hopeful when Asgore was still alive, a revered fable held up by shaking pillars of lies, crumbles to dust.

But then there's moments like this. Small moments, when Papyrus can take a sick kind of pleasure in knowing that right now, right here, he has gained something he would never have had any other way.

An entire following of monsters that know him. Like him. Love him.

And they look up at him, on his throne. At the way he smiles and rules, fair and just, as if he were the actual sun, come down from the surface to grace them with its light.

Because Papyrus can act.

He can be everything they want him to be. Everything they need. Still they fall, but not nearly as many as otherwise, because he can make them believe. If only a fraction of his hope can rub of on them then maybe it can be enough.

Not nearly enough to save all of them, but some.

And Sans will tell him it doesn't matter. Nothing matters until time rewinds and starts over and everything is left undone.

He will point at the garden and say that they, the monsters outside his throne room, are just like those flowers. They can wilt and rot and they can die and it doesn't matter because they will bloom again and not remember.

There is no point in caring.

Papyrus doesn't answer. Doesn't tell him that if he stops caring now, when the world is ending and he is all there is left to believe in, then he wouldn't care anyhow.

They look at him and see him and adore him. And his mailbox is ever overflowing.

Just a small tiny part of him that relishes in finally not being alone.

And Papyrus knows it can be glorious to be king.


	47. To a certain degree

**A little something for AJ's birthday. It's not very good though uwu'**

* * *

"You know you're smarter than he is right?"

Papyrus hums, glides his hand along the upper edge of the flowerpot his best friend is contained within these days.

They're still looking for a less... restricting alternative.

" _I_ am smarter than he is." Flowey goes on and Papyrus throws him a look.

The flower rolls his eyes.

"What do you think I've been doing all day while you're at work?"

Papyrus opens his mouth, closes it again. He is afraid he'll have to admit he never really thought too deeply about it.

"I don't know." He says eventually.

Whatever Flowey was going to answer is swallowed when Sans finally makes his way over to them. He looks elated, to say the least. The cap is a nice touch, a human tradition but Sans is obviously proud of it, he has been straightening it all evening.

"Hey bro." He says, smiling. He doesn't address Flowey, as usual.

"Hey Sans." Papyrus replies evenly. "Congratulations on getting your physics degree."

"Thanks. I guess you could say my studies are similar to the large Hadron collider..." Sans leaves an appropriate pause there, waiting for his words to sink in. "Because they're both a smashing success."

"That was actually pretty clever." Papyrus laughs. Flowey jerks inside his container.

"Very clever." He scoffs. "Now you only need 3 more degrees to match me."

Sans blinks at him. "W-what...?"

"It's called online schooling, trash bag. Look it up."

His brother looks like a deer caught in the headlights for a second and Papyrus has to try his hardest not to start giggling. He'd feel guilty if he did.

"When did you-?" Sans starts, blinks again, then shakes his head. "You know what, I don't care."

He walks away quickly, face sour with his fists pushed down his pockets and Flowey rolls his eyes, one of his many bad habits.

"Gosh, he sure doesn't care." He says sarcastically and this time Papyrus can't help himself.

"That was kind of mean." He says half-heartedly and Flowey looks up at him, something like pride caught on his face. "But do you really...?"

"Yes, of course." He grins. "Like I said, what do you think I do all day when you're gone."

"Right." Papyrus nods. "Then we should throw you a party too, it's only fair."

Flowey looks horrified at his musings. "Please, I'd rather die."

"Pity."

There's something to be said for silent accomplishments, Papyrus thinks. But he doesn't need to say so out loud.


	48. (Not) Just a cold

**I wrote this for the 'bad things happen' bingo on tumblr. Just a little snippet of Undyne getting sick**

* * *

'Sick days' aren't in Undyne's vocabulary. She knows because she checked twice.

So she ignored the persistent throbbing in her head when she woke up that morning, and when the world starts spinning she ignores that even harder.

"I don't think-" Papyrus starts, and she braces one hand against his shoulder, partly to stop him from finishing his sentence and partly because if she doesn't she might keel over.

"Good. You're not here for thinking. You're here for cooking. And as we well established, that requires minimal thought and maximum resolve."

He nods but doesn't stop squinting at her suspiciously and Undyne sighs, transferring her hand from his shoulder to the counter instead. The smell of the food is making her sick, something tight that crawls up her chest and settles at the back of her throat.

It tastes like bile.

"How about you do it alone this time and I'll supervise." She says, shoving the vegetables over to him and Papyrus squints for a moment more, before taking on his new task with gusto. She watches him quite literally attack the ingredients with a sigh, ignoring the way it splatters all over the floor and walls.

Every sound seems amplified inside her skull, bouncing around unpleasantly. Her entire body is leaning against the counter now.

Papyrus stops.

"Undyne." He says, and she hates it because it's his 'I'm trying to be patient while dealing with a stubborn fool' voice. He uses it quite often around her. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine." She lies. Despite there being two Papyri now, both looking extremely skeptical. She blinks until he stops being double. "Perfectly spectacular."

Then the world does a weird thing where it tips sideways, giving gravity the good ol' middle finger it seems, except it's her that's tipping and the floor isn't stagnant anymore. It rushes up to meet her with a sickening thud before everything goes black.

* * *

She wakes up.

Of course it would have been too much to ask to die right then and there, except of slowly expiring of humiliation like she now will be forced to.

The world never did Undyne any favors.

The lights are too bright, her head aches like the entire Underground collapsed on top of it, so she pulls the blanket up over her face instead.

Papyrus laughs.

If she had the energy Undyne would love to throttle him, but alas. She'll have to put it on her to-do list for later.

"Please tell me you haven't called her."

Because that would be too much to bear. She might just have to faint all over again.

Papyrus pulls away the blanket gently and his face is soft, like he takes pity on her situation. Just not enough to put her out of her misery.

"Of course I did. She was very worried, you know."

Undyne bolts upright then regrets it immediately when the ache shoots down the back of her neck, making her hunch over miserably.

"Papyrus, as soon as I'm able to move again I am going to murder you."

"I know."

She sighs, lies back down because there really is nothing else to do but give in to what is obviously inevitably going to happen. At least it being the cutest girl in the underground fussing over her will make this slightly more bearable.

"Say you at least told her I blacked out while doing something incredibly cool. Like fighting a hurricane or something."

"I told her the truth." Papyrus says.

Undyne throws him a look, rolling her eyes. "Of all times."

He looks mildly offended, but is interrupted by a knock on the door. They stare at each other a moment longer and then he shakes his head, getting up to answer while Undyne burrows deeper beneath the blankets, resigning to her at-least-very-adorable faith.


	49. DeVoid

**This was a birthday gift for the lovely Ze, light of my life, the better half of me 3 she really likes Gaster so here's some sad goop man**

* * *

Consciousness is a fickle thing for him.

It fades in and out, ever changing. Fluid, like him, though unlike anything that came before or ever will be.

And when it does return, he thinks of them.

It hurts. Not the physical pain, a constant of his existence now. An enduring ache that settles in his bones and drags him down deeper and deeper with every passing second. But something else, something vital that wrenches his soul and makes it hard to reason.

They don't remember him.

It is a realization that came to him quickly, sudden. Nobody remembers him of course, but they don't and that is most jarring of all. It slithers down his spine and lays its claws against him, a prickling awareness of his absence.

He remembers them. Vaguely, in blurs of color and motion, but he recalls Sans making jokes and Papyrus smiling up at him with wide eyes, lingering in his mind, stuck there. He remembers them as they were, whole and happy and more than they are now.

Broken. Like him.

And the irony is bitter.

There is peace in knowing they can't miss him. They can't reach him beyond some scattered notes of eons past and the childish drawing of crayon colors. They might falter then, catch him in the corners of their mind like furniture overgrown with vines. Something almost real but not quite.

But in the end they are without him and in that Gaster finds solace.

Though it doesn't make him miss them any less in turn.

The child visits him, once. The human that is both cruel and merciful, a literal twist in faith and it is their powers that allow them to see him, if briefly.

Their eyes are as empty as his.

'What about you?' they want to know, with trembling hands overtaken by his coldness, the void that engulfs his being, and for that lackluster moment them too. 'Can I save you?'

And he thinks. Entertains the notion for the slightest of seconds, that maybe he could be with them once more.

But the very essence of his being is already fading again and the though is quickly discarded. There is no merit in foolish hopes like that. He tells them as much.

They bite their lip, their head cast down and it is not something they want to hear but he repeats it over and over. Part of him wishes he could tell them though because maybe then things would be better.

Sans would stop trying and Papyrus could stop lying and they would be brothers again. If only Gaster could reach them.

Some people can't be saved.


End file.
